For God and Country
by Rookie571
Summary: A young soldier supposedly dies on the field of battle at a conflict in the 21st century, only to wake up in a world unlike his own, with alien races he only thought existed in fiction, and in a war he couldn't even hope to possibly understand.
1. Prologue

**A/N: Hey guys, this is my first try at fanfiction, so I'd really appreciate it if you'd give me your input and feedback as to what you think of this piece I'm writing and what I've done wrong. Thanks in advance.**

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******December 3****rd**** 2013**

**Scarborough Shoal, South China Sea**

It felt like they were being pounded by artillery rounds for hours, the high explosive shells impacting, showering everyone with bits of rock, sand, and deadly fragments of dense metal. In reality, the artillery barrage just recently started a few minutes ago, but experiencing this first hand kind of makes every minute closer to eternity. Explosions were heard, men were screaming, their limbs missing from their body, blood pouring out everywhere from deep wounds. It was a complete and utter nightmare. The Chinese weren't, in any way, trying to give up from taking this piece of real estate out of the hands of its defenders, and the barrage only served to solidify their point. More and more rounds started landing near the outpost's vicinity, each explosion coming closer than before, with every soldier inside of it cowering and keeping their heads down, hoping to whatever God they believed in that they could get out of this mess unscathed. Most of them weren't so lucky.

About three 155mm high explosive rounds made landfall inside the outpost itself, tearing apart what was left of the pre-fabricated concrete barracks and killing anyone unfortunate enough to be inside it, their screams silenced by the loud roars of the barrage's explosions. The enemy artillery battery was getting more and more accurate, that much was for certain, with more shells creeping inside the outpost's perimeter. In other words, the situation was getting worse. The defenders braced themselves for what would be the enemy's eventual assault. They knew that in order for the Chinese to access this small shoal's vast resources, they had to be removed out of the picture—annihilated even—but the one thing that kept every single one of the brave bastards going was that their country was counting on them to stop the enemy's blitzkrieg-like advance, to hold the ground just a little bit more. To hold the line.

None knew this more than Private Henry Rodriguez, who was hunkering down on his foxhole outside the outpost walls, hand clutching down on his helmet to make sure it wouldn't fly off if an arty round made impact near his position. _What difference would it make? _The young soldier thought to himself. _If a shell landed close to me I'd lose more than this damned helmet. _Another explosion went off just a few yards away near the private, with sand raining on top of him. He kept his head even lower, afraid that if he even peeped out of his hole for just a little bit, the arty round might decapitate his head straight off. The thought alone made the Rodriguez shiver. That wasn't something he hoped would happen.

The Philippine Army's 37th Infantry Regiment, more specifically a company from its 2nd Battalion, was assigned the unlucky task of holding this little outpost against hordes of Chinese regulars. What the brass from the regiment didn't know was that the lone group of soldiers, which was Bravo Company, was facing a full-strength infantry battalion supported by light armor and artillery, the latter ranging from mortars to big howitzers.

Either way, it wasn't good news for the men of Bravo Company. Rodriguez shuffled around his foxhole, trying to get to a comfortable position to avoid his body any further pain—which only annoyed the other soldier next to him.

"For the love of God, stop moving!" the soldier, Corporal Juan Perez, hissed out, completely angry at the sudden movement.

"Sorry sir." The private replied instantly. The last thing he wanted was for his NCO to get pissed.

The barrage continued for about another five minutes or so before the enemy artillery battery ceased firing, giving the defenders a short time of reprieve from all the explosions and fragments. They knew this was the calm before the storm. A moment to get all their prayers done and their weapons locked and loaded. Up ahead, the Chinese were preparing to launch their first attack on the shoal's defenders.

"Get your rifle up, Private." Perez ordered.

The young private quickly obliged, bringing up his M16A2 assault rifle at the direction of the enemy. He was nervous, no doubt about it. His heart beating faster and faster as the sound of the enemy came closer and closer. _Get your rifle up and aim at your target's center mass._ Rodriguez remembered what his drill sergeant said to him before he shipped. He grabbed his rifle's charging handle and chambered a round. It seemed only like a week ago he was training to become soldier at the Philippine Army boot camp stationed at Manila. He didn't quite expect to participate in a full-fledged war against the Chinese just after graduation.

"_Bravo Six to all units," _the private's radio crackled to life. "_Be advised, enemy units approaching. Be sure to get your eyes downrange, fingers on your triggers, and we all go home in one piece. God be with you. Six out." _And the transmission quickly ended.

Ahead, what he saw on the horizon instantly made him pale. _Armor! _A platoon of three ZBD05 light armored vehicles came rushing towards them at full speed, with their 30mm auto-cannons belching fire and smoke as they pounded the defenders with accurate fire of HE shells. Around him, the ground was being peppered with concentrated fire, and he couldn't do anything about it as he and Corporal Perez ducked low, hoping to avoid the worst of it. As Rodriguez slowly rose out his foxhole to get a peek on what was going on, he saw a missile streak its way towards one of the light tanks and exploded on impact, engulfing its target in a sea of deadly flames. Another missile was launched and it took out another target, destroying it completely with its turret flying ten feet in the air.

The surviving tank tried to fall back, only to be struck by a single mortar round that hit somewhere near the vehicle's frontal armor. It must've hit something important, because the next thing he knew the thing stopped moving and the crew tried to bail out—only to be cut down by his fellow soldiers' stream of lead as they opened fire.

"Here they come!" someone from the defense line shouted. Just up ahead, soldiers from the People's Liberation Army charged towards them, giving out a roar of defiance as they came in force.

"_Open fire!" _a voice on his radio commanded. Without hesitation, Rodriguez aimed his rifle at an advancing soldier and squeezed the trigger. His weapon spewed out a three-round burst, cutting down his unfortunate target in a sleet of jacketed metal as he collapsed, the enemy soldier's chest darkening with crimson red as he was bleeding out. _Holy shit! I got one!_

He shifted his rifle to another target and fired another burst, this time hitting the Chinese infantryman in the leg. His target fell face first and tried to get up, only to be gunned down by someone else from the line. Once again, he shifted his fire, and for the next few moments, all he did was point his rifle towards the enemy, aim it, then pull the trigger, taking down more of the Chinese as he and the rest of the men in this unit tries to desperately stave off the enemy advance.

His rifle suddenly clicked empty. _Damn it! _He mentally cursed himself. With all the shooting that's been going around he forgot to count his shots. He pressed the magazine release, let the spent clip fall towards the ground, and replaced it with a fresh one. This particular clip filled with deadly full-metal jacket rounds. _This oughta ruin someone's day._ To his left, a sandbag position with a gunner manning an M2HB heavy machine gun was opening up on the advancing Chinese infantrymen, slowly turning the HMG into a slow arc as he cut down anyone unfortunate enough to be in his sights.

_Stop messing around, focus! _He thought to himself. He aimed his rifle, and opened up on another target, this one a Chinese anti-tank man, being tagged with a three-round burst that wrecked bastard's left shoulder. The man fell into the ground and dropped his missile launcher, he wasn't going anywhere.

Next to the private, Corporal Perez was busy picking off his own targets with his M4 carbine, raining rounds on the enemy with deadly accuracy. He stayed low, dropped his empty clip and reloaded, then stood up again and opened fire, dropping another enemy infantryman with a burst in the head. "Don't just fucking stand there, Rodriguez! Fire your weapon!"

The private quickly regained his senses and opened up with his own rifle. _This is gonna be a long day._

* * *

The enemy assault kept on going for about thirty minutes after first contact, then faltered after suffering heavy losses. They covered their withdrawal with smoke rounds being fired from the same artillery battery that gave the company hell earlier. It was a miracle they hadn't opened up their big guns when they launched their attack. _Thank God._

_Must've been afraid to hit their own guys. _Rodriguez thought. He was lying down on his foxhole, resting for a bit while the enemy prepped for another assault on the outpost. The last attack killed about twenty-nine soldiers from the company and wounded about fourteen others, three of which were considered critical. Out of the hundred men that composed Bravo Company, almost half of their strength was gone and the commanding officer, Captain Felix Hernandez, was killed when the opening fire from the armored platoon tore through his foxhole with a well-placed HE round.

His replacement, execute officer 2nd Lieutenant Jose Trocio, was next in command. The man was a newly commissioned officer with no experience whatsoever, who graduated just a few days shy before hostilities escalated. That made the rest of the company nervous. The only thing worse than a dead CO was an inexperienced one.

Rodriguez just sat on his foxhole, with his rifle splayed across legs, wondering if this new looey of theirs would get them out of this mess unscathed, or they'd be completely annihilated in the face of overwhelming odds. _There are worse ways to die. _He was amused at that thought. It's been about five minutes since the Chinese withdrew from their initial attack. _What the hell are those bastards up to?_

His answer came when a whistling sound was heard throughout the outpost and impacted on the company CP, blowing the entire pre-fab structure to hell. More and more rounds quickly came, and was once again, hell was raining down on their heads. The private automatically lowered his body deeper into the foxhole and placed a hand on his combat helmet, hearing more explosions and screams as the barrage did its job of softening up the defenders for the next Chinese assault.

This time, they weren't holding back. An entire company of twelve light armored vehicles came crashing towards them, their cannons opening up on the battered Philippine Army unit with heavy slugs from their cannons and coaxial machine guns. Men were instantly cut down, their cries shrieking across the entire battlefield as their wounds gave them considerable pain and suffering. The rest of Bravo Company quickly dug in, opening fire with their weapons as they traded volleys with each other.

The young private opened up with his rifle, this time not hitting anything but managed to suppress a group of Chinese soldiers that were advancing alongside their light tanks. In return, they replied in kind and fired at Rodriguez's position with concentrated fire from their rifles and machine guns, effectively counter-suppressing him and more importantly, his ass was pinned down. _Should've just ignored those guys._

He took cover from the safety of his foxhole, burrowing even deeper than before. Hoping to Fortune that he wouldn't get hit. His radio came to life, and calls from the radio confirmed everyone's worst fears when the company CP took a hit.

"_Bravo Five's gone! I repeat, the entire command group's gone!" _the voice on the radio frantically yelled.

"_What?!" _another voice joined in. "_Who the hell's in command then?"_

"_How the hell should I know, we need to fall back and regroup!" _The voice from earlier countered.

"_We can't fall back!" _a third voice interrupted. _"We're surrounded! They just took out most of Second Platoon and are hammering the Fourth! Our rear's been compromised! Please advise, over!"_

"_Fuck!" _voice number-two swore. _"To anyone receiving this transmission, be advised we're falling back to the outpost. I repeat, haul ass inside the outpost! Out." _

Everyone stationed outside the outpost perimeter quickly complied and disengaged from the enemy, turning on smoke generators to mask their withdrawal. The Chinese sensed this opportunity and intensified their attack, calling on more artillery strikes and turning all their weapons towards the retreating Filipino forces to bear.

With all the crap they were running from behind, Private Rodriguez ran like he never ran before. Abandoning his post after the makeshift withdrawal order was issued, he quickly made his way towards the outpost's interior, avoiding artillery blasts, stray machine gun and rifle fire. Next to him, an unfortunate soul was cut down as lead made its way through the poor bastard's back, and another soldier being thrown about as an arty round impacted next to him, shearing his entire left leg clean off. This further gave the private all the more reason to run like hell.

After passing the outpost's entrance, Rodriguez went further inside, seeing what was left of the perimeter force going towards a group of trenches and fortified bunkers that were overlooking the lone entry point in which the enemy was now approaching. He quickly dove towards the trench like the devil himself was on his ass and landed unspectacularly head first, luckily with his helmet luckily absorbing most of the impact. He got up and made to look around on the trench he was in: most of them were from the guys stationed outside, and it was painfully obvious that a lot of guys didn't make it for the run towards here.

This area right here was there last stand, their Alamo, Thermopylae, and Tirad Pass. This was where they'd make their mark on history, where they'd opposed a force from greater than their own and stood their ground, or something like that. Either they'd survive this mess they got themselves into or die hopelessly outmatched, outmanned, and definitely outgunned. _Somehow, I'm not liking any of those damn choices. _He thought to himself.

The enemy was coming near, the light tanks being the vanguard of their assault, providing mobile cover for the advancing Chinese infantrymen as they came behind them, opening fire as they pushed on forward. What's left of the defenders opened up with everything they had left. Assault rifles, sniper, rifles, some light machine guns, hell even some pistols.

But none slowed the enemy's assault. Sure, there were picking off some Chinese soldiers unlucky enough to be in their sights, but it wasn't enough. The advance was completely unfazed, with the enemy assault force coming nearer and nearer until they were only about a few dozen yards away, just a grenade throw away.

Which was exactly what it meant.

A few grenades were thrown towards the advancing Chinese onslaught, with men being thrown about by the grenade's explosive shockwave and fragments. But yet again, it wasn't enough, they still marched forward.

Private Henry Rodriguez, with his assault rifle clicking empty, threw his spent weapon on the ground and grabbed his side arm, a SIG Sauer P226. It wasn't exactly made for engaging fast moving targets a few hundred yards away, but he was running out of options. With his rifle ammo spent, his grenades gone, and most of his company dead or dying, he was, in layman's terms, completely on his own.

A brave—or stupid—platoon of Chinese infantrymen were quickly making their way towards the Rodriguez's position, somehow managing to avoid getting hit by both sides' massive kill zone that was tearing everything in its path and in between. They approached the Filipino trench line carefully, saw the private and what was left of the perimeter force, and attacked. Opening fire as they try and clear the trenches, a few soldiers near Rodriguez were instantly cut down, bleeding from two or more wounds, crimson red liquid pouring freely out of the bodies.

The private instantly took cover at a bunch of crates, pulling the slide off his pistol and peeked out of the corner of his cover—only to be rewarded with a burst of rifle fire that impacted on the area near his eyes. He instantly reared back, further protecting himself as they continued giving him suppressing fire in order to keep him pinned. He tried his luck again and peeked out, and saw two enemy soldiers nearing him. Without a moment's hesitation, he stood up from his cover and opened fire. Two rounds hit the first soldier in the head near the nose, and four more took out the second soldier with hits on the poor bastard's chest.

Rodriguez quickly took cover again, with the enemy's suppressive fire becoming more accurate and intense. His last act must've pissed them off. And now he couldn't even move to ascertain whatever the hell it is those bastards were doing, as further attempts to take a peek resulted in a burst of rifle fire quickly making him regret his decision. Worse, he couldn't get out of the trench line as the Chinese were making any attempts he made be paid for in further bursts of accurate rifle fire. He was trapped and the enemy knew it. _This sucks._

His radio came to life once again, only this time, it was more like a final transmission: _"We're being overrun! I say again, we're being overrun! This is Bravo Two-One contacting anyone on this freq. Major casualties sustained, cannot hold objective Alpha and—shit!" _a burst of rifle fire was heard, followed by a scream and the line went dead.

_I guess this is it… _He thought to himself one last time. Everyone around him was dead. He removed his pistol's clip and inspected its contents: three rounds left, plus another magazine with maybe five or so rounds. _Damn it._ He heard the Chinese getting nearer and nearer, and he couldn't kill them all. What troubled Rodriguez was not the fact that his death was imminent, rather, his inability to take a lot of this bastards with him when that time came. As he finally readies himself one last time, he saw something on the ground near him that raised his hopes a little bit.

_An M84 grenade, how lucky of me._

He gingerly grabbed it, pulled the pin, and released pressure on the detonating mechanism. He was finally rewarded with a loud _ping!_ That instantly told him it was armed. Apparently, the soldiers that were nearing him heard of it as well and tried to fall back. Without any further notice, Rodriguez exited his cover, and with whatever strength he still possessed, he threw the grenade and the retreating Chinese infantrymen who thought they could still avoid death.

The M84 landed in the middle of the group and exploded, spraying everyone with lethal fragments. The explosive blast sent all of them flying. He smiled, knowing that his job was finished. For one last time, he raised his pistol and aimed it at one shocked enemy rifleman who was still reeling from his brethren's loss, but quickly saw what he was doing. The enemy aimed his rifle and fired off a single three-round burst into Rodriguez's right shoulder, just before the private fired a single round into the bastard's forehead.

Both of them collapsed at the same time, the only difference is that the Chinese rifleman never expected for his easy prey to score a quick headshot that resulted in his life being extinguished. _Too slow man…_

As he felt his life slowly fading away, Private Henry Rodriguez wondered if his and Bravo Company's efforts were to be lauded and remembered, if they were to be placed in the annals of military history. Or something like that. As he closes his eyes to rest one **last **time, the young soldier never anticipated that even after all this has happened, his life will never be the same again.

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**Hope you guys tell me what you think of this. :)**


	2. After Action Report: 12-03-13

_**Armed Forces of the Philippines - Philippine Army**_

_**After Action Report – Dated: **__December 3__rd__ 2013_

_**Unit: **__B Company, 2__nd__ Battalion, 37__th__ Infantry Regiment , 1__st__ Infantry Division_

_**AoR: **__Outpost Alpha / Scarborough Shoal / South China Sea (grid location attached)_

_**Report as follows –**_

_**- **__Enemy forces were sighted north of the outpost about four kilometers out by a Scout Ranger recon unit 0700 hours ago. Intel believed that opposition was most like to be the PLAGF 403__rd__ Combined Arms Battalion, with support from light armor and artillery. _

_Contact was established at approximately 1100 hours, when the opening salvo from their artillery made landfall throughout the outpost's perimeter. _

_Artillery barrage lasted for less than ten minutes, after which enemy forces launched the first wave of their assault to the outpost with a platoon's worth of light armor supported by about two companies worth of infantry._

_Initial assault repulsed, with first wave suffering heavy losses. Company strength down to about half as artillery attacks and the previous engagement significantly decrease troop numbers. CO Captain Felix Hernandez was KIA._

_Second wave launched about an hour later, this time with a combined arms assault of three infantry companies, an armored assault company, and two artillery batteries. Heavy casualties sustained on both sides. Majority of the company command group killed when the pre-assault barrage bombarded the company CP._

_Bravo Company's line breached at approximately 1237 hours, with the perimeter defenses shattered due to repeated enemy attacks. Withdrawal order was issued by acting company CO Sergeant Julio Herera to the outpost's interior, at this time company strength was estimated to be at least twenty-two able bodied soldiers who fortified the outpost bunkers and trenches._

_Both sides continued engaging each other for about twenty minutes when the Chinese ZBD05 light armor contingent charged itss way towards the defenders, followed by an all-out infantry attack. Battle officially ended at approximately 1259 hours. Entire Bravo Company decimated, with no survivors or POW's recovered when the initial counter-attack was launched three hours later._


	3. Paradise Lost

**A/N: A shoutout to Eromancer and zzzQNzzz for the review. Thanks bros, I'll keep that in mind.**

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His head hurt like hell, there was no doubt about that. Felt like the damn thing was going to implode any second now. The pain was good for one of two things: first, it reminded him that he was alive and he wasn't quite dead yet; and the second, which kind of sucks, is that his problems were far from over. Speaking of pain, the wound he had received from that Chinese rifleman wasn't throbbing and sore anymore. _That's weird, I must've been transported to a triage center, or better yet, a hospital. _He thought to himself. The images of a warm bed, hot food, and specifically hot, busty nurses swam across his mind.

He discontinued his line of thought when he finally realized something. The surface in which his back was resting on wasn't soft at all; in fact, it was rough, sharp, and was hard as hell. He slowly opened his eyes, trying to regain most of his senses. _Where the hell am I? _He could hear the sound of wind flowing freely as the leaves from a couple of nearby trees were rustling with movement. The light was blinding, so he put one of his hands up to shield himself from the searing sky. As his sight adjusted to his nearby surroundings, he could finally see where he was and stood up. All around him, he was surrounded with green shrubbery, idyllic mountain ranges, pine trees, and a couple of hilltops over the horizon. The sky was blue, with clouds putting up a nice overhead cover from the sun, and he could also smell the scent of…_almonds? What in the hell. _

He tried to look around, hoping to get his bearings, and patted his clothing to get his GPS locator from his uniform. _Gotta get that damn…wait, what the fuck am I wearing? _He wasn't wearing his standard-issue Philippine Army BDU's. The utitlity pouches, bags, and his ammo pack were gone. Only to be replaced by some kind of grey, short-sleeved jumpsuit with a lot of pockets. He was panicking, that was for damn sure. He was in a place he couldn't recognize and wearing clothes he didn't remember wearing. _Am I fucking dead? _They say whenever a person dies, they'd feel cold and they would see a searing white light coming to get them. He clearly remembered not experiencing any of those clichéd events.

The cloud cover was swept away from the wind, and he could clearly make out the sun. His eyes were wide with shock, as he didn't see just one, but _two_ suns out in the sky. _Jesus fucking Christ, what the fuck is going on! _He began running around towards what he thought was north, putting some distance from where he just woke up. _This has gotta be a fucking joke, or better yet, a fucking dream. Yeah, that's it! _He stopped from his sprint, outstretched his right arm, and slapped himself hard on his right cheek. He was rewarded with a sharp pain, and he could feel his cheek redden. _It's not a fucking dream! I'm fucking awake! _He began hyperventilating, with sweat starting to trickle down in his body as the wind failed to cool him off.

He continued his sprint, just running and running for what seemed like forever. Hoping to get to some place where he could find some clues as to where the hell he'd gotten his sorry ass into. Finally, he stopped, his lungs burning from exhaustion, and his legs wobbly from all the exertion he committed. _This isn't a dream and I'm fucking wide awake. _He sat down on the soft, cushy grass. His hands behind the head his back, and laid down, breathing in gulps of fresh, clean, God-given air. He watched the skies, looking at the clouds as the wind continued to push them wherever it was they needed to go. With all the running and panicking he had to endure a few minutes ago, he hadn't had the chance to admire this place's splendid beauty. The grass, the mountain ranges, hilltops, trees. In his opinion, this place wasn't just beautiful, it was truly idyllic—no, it was fucking spectacular. _Am I dead? This place really is a damn paradise._

The sight all around him let him wonder if he truly was dead and he was, in hindsight, stuck in heaven. He really wasn't that much of a religious man, and since he was a Filipino, he was raised a Roman Catholic. Not exactly the most devout one, but he was still a Catholic nonetheless. Whenever he had a chance to avoid going to mass, he'd always take it. And that was what usually happened all the time. He couldn't even remember the last time he went to mass. _Still, _he thought. _If this place really is heaven, where the hell are all the angels? Where was Saint Peter? And, more importantly, where was God?_

He stood up, signifying the end of his short rest, and continued walking. As he did so, he could hear somethingclinkingaround his chest. Intrigued, he started patting that part of his body and was surprised to feel something bulge there underneath the jumpsuit's cloth. He reached his hand there, and was surprised to see something he thought he'd never see again: his dog tags. He wondered why most of the stuff he'd gotten with him was gone and this thing was the only one that he could find. _Well, at least I could still carry something from my previous life._

He walked for the better part of what he thought for an hour, thirst and exhaustion slowly creeping around his body. Sweat was constantly flowing throughout his back, armpits, and forehead. His grey jumpsuit was completely soaked. As he continued trekking his way, he eyes caught something far ahead, about two hundred meters away: a paved road with something sticking out there. Without further notice, he ran for it, completely forgetting the fact that his body was tired, cranky, and thirsty. A few moments he arrived, and what drew his attention was the object right in from of him: a sign post.

_Welcome to Ferris Fields!_ It said._ Population: 13,000. Settlement: Two kilometers ahead._ For the first time since he first arrived here, he grinned from ear to ear. He was finally getting some answers as to where he was and what place this is. He continued walking, his legs burning from continued exertion and effort. _Need. Water. _He was breathing heavily now, his vision becoming blurry and his limbs becoming much heavier with each continued step he took. _I need to lie down for a bit. _He pressed on, needing to find a place where he could rest for just a little bit and be on his way towards the settlement. _Almost there._ Ahead, he could see the road curving somewhere to the left, and just beside that curve was a well-placed tree, like an oak one. _Finally! _

He frantically continued his pace, his body screaming for him to rest even though the oak tree was just up ahead. _Just…a little bit…further. _Along the way, he tripped, and he placed both of his hands ahead just in time for his face to avoid planting on the ground. He stood up again, this time, each step he took was heavier than the last. _Left. Right. Left. Right. One step at a time. _His mind was slowly starting to drift away.

At long last he finally reached the oak tree, with his back on the heavy-set trunk, he slowly slid towards the ground. He wondered how long he was walking and running. Two hours? Three? It didn't matter anymore, for the settlement was just up ahead. At least he thought it was. He shrugged, his head on the trunk, and surely his eyes began to close ever so slowly. He tried to fight it out, but in the end, exhaustion won.

As sleep became to overtake him, he wondered about all the guys from his unit, and that first and last battle he participated in. _Did I fail? Did I turn my country down for losing and getting shot? _He remembered his friends, all the guys from his platoon and Bravo Company. _Corporal Perez, Sergeant Herera, Captain Hernandez. _All the good guys from a unit in which he served proudly, and wondered if he ever was gonna see them again. _Am I ever gonna see my home again? _He thought to himself one last time.

And just like that, he was out like a light.

* * *

"Hey, you okay there, bud?" he heard a voice say something. He ignored it, instead trying to focus more on sleeping and defiantly keeping his eyes completely shut. But then the voice came again, this time even more persistently.

"Come on, buddy. Wake up." He felt something prod on his shoulders. _Annoying bastard. _As he slowly opened his eyes, he was rewarded with the sight of a middle-aged Caucasian man, with a complete beard under his nostrils and his chin, and a baseball cap fitting snugly on his head. _Could you be so kind as to get the hell out of here and let me sleep? _He tried to tell him, but his throat couldn't get the words out and all he could manage was a groan.

"It's alright, buddy. We'll get you outta here." The man grabbed one of his shoulders, placed it behind his head, and stood him up. All the young man could ever think about was the fact that he was being carried around by a middle-aged stranger, with no idea as to who this guy is and whether or not he did this for the best of intentions, or the worst of it. But right now, he didn't care. He was tired, and he was exhausted physically and mentally. The stress of finding out you were in the middle of nowhere had completely taken its toll on him. He heard the stranger's voice again, this time he wasn't talking to him.

"Terry, help me out here. Get him on the rover." And then, another set of hands grabbed his shoulder and led him off to some kind of vehicle. It didn't have a roof or a door, and looked like a pick-up truck from back home. Only this one was much more futuristic and sleek. He felt himself being laid down on a cool, metallic, floor. And with his eyes shut once again, he could only hear the sounds around him. The two man were conversing about getting to a clinic and getting there as fast as they can. He heard a switch being flicked and an engine sputter to life. As the vehicle sprang to life, he felt the world around him shake and move. _I think I'm gonna be sick…_

But instead of puking his guts out, the young private just laid there, ignoring his nausea and kept on resting. _Wherever we're going, I'm gonna need all the sleep I can get. _And then again, he slowly drifted away into deep sleep.

* * *

As he slowly opened his eyes, he saw that he was in an honest-to-God bed, it's cushioning foam soft and comfortable, and he was somehow in a place that kind of looked like a triage center and a small clinic. There were a couple of other beds around, but they were unoccupied. As far as he could see, he was the only person around. He relaxed, realizing that he was holding his breath the entire time he was surveying the area around him. _For a second there, I thought I was marooned on some lost paradise with two suns. I must've been dreaming. _He thought to himself.

But then he realized he was still wearing the same grey jumpsuit he had on and that his dog tags were still in place. _Crap, still here. _He mentally cursed, throwing in a lot of swear words in his mind. He was so deep in thought that he didn't notice a woman with a white lab coat come near him with some sort of pad or tablet thing in her hand. The sight of her startled the young private, his eyes fixated on the medical-looking professional. _Either that or she's some kind of scientist experimenting on me._ He stopped thinking about that and focused on the woman in front of him: she was petite-looking, her height maybe around 5'4" or 5'5", but he couldn't tell exactly. She was a brunette, with blue eyes and a beautifully sculpted face with thin lips and…okay, she was sure pretty.

The doctor caught the young man staring and cleared her throat. That pretty much brought him back to reality and looked into her blue eyes. _I could get lost in there for a long tiiiime._ "How're you feeling?" She asked him.

"I feel fine, ma'am. A bit tired and sore, but I'm good." He responded, his voice dry and hoarse. The doctor smiled and took a quick peek into her pad thing, nodded and went near him further, until she was just beside the bed-ridden soldier.

"When they brought you here, you were pretty much unconscious and exhausted." She stated matter-of-factly, then continued, "They thought you were dying, and I was pretty sure you almost were."

"How long was I out, ma'am?" He asked, he was curious as to how long he was unconscious.

"About two days," _Wow, was I really that fucked when they brought me here?_ "You were lucky when they found you. Which brings me to my next question," _Uh-oh, something tells me I ain't gonna like this. _She grabbed a chair and sat next to him, pad still in hand and looked him right in his eyes. "Who are you and why're you here?"

"My name's Henry Rodriguez, ma'am." The young private explained, adjusting his pillow and position to make himself more comfortable. "As to why I'm here, I have no idea."

"Huh, I see." She replied, she had a slight accent, like that from a person originating in the American Midwest. She continued messing with her pad for a few seconds then looked at him back. "Where you from, Henry?"

"The Philippines, ma'am." She looked back at him with shock and disbelief. Which made him wonder if he had said something wrong.

"Philippines? You mean you're from Earth? From the Federated Philippine States?" she asked again.

"Uh, yeah, I guess—" _Wait, what? Federated Philippine what-now? _The private wondered if he heard the doctor right and pondered on his thoughts. The doctor saw him deep in thought and cleared her throat again.

"Oh, sorry ma'am. I didn't mean to drift off like that." He apologized quickly.

"It's quite alright." She said. "By the way, it's Therese, not ma'am. Makes me feel old." She gave him a genuine smile, which caught him off-guard. _Stop staring at her, damn it. _He chastised himself and then quickly collected himself.

"I'll work on that, ma'am." He gave her a smile of his own.

"Okay, so do you remember anything before ending up here, Mister Rodriguez?"

"Just Henry, please." He gave her an embarrassed smile before turning serious. "I remember being in a firefight, ma'am. Then I got shot, blacked out, and before I knew it, I was here."

"A firefight?" Therese asked him, her voice obviously curious. She looked at him more closely, which only made the private all the more nervous. "Are you a soldier or something?"

"Yes ma'am." He replied.

"And you said you got shot? Hmm." She looked at her pad again and was deep in thought, pressing something there and reading, from the look of it. She was busy for about a minute or so, then she said: "Our analysis earlier haven't discovered any wounds anywhere, Henry. They must've fixed it before you got here."

"Huh." Was all Rodriguez could say. _No wonder the pain was gone. _But then he remembered that the purpose of getting into this settlement was to ascertain his location and know what date it was. It could've been a millennia for all he knew. "Excuse me, ma'am, uh, can you tell me where 'here' is and what date it is?"

"Well," she looked away from his pad and looked at him. "You're in Ferris Fields, a colony somewhere in the Terminus Systems," _Colony? Terminus Systems? What the hell is she talking about? _Before he could think of this any further, she continued to speak: "As for the date? Hmm, let' see. I think it's the seventh of August, Twenty-one eighty-three."

_August 7__th__ 2183? Please tell me that was a joke. _His mind processed all the things from which Therese just mentioned. He couldn't believe it, and his mind was suddenly racked with a helluva lot of questions in which he honestly didn't know what the answer was for all of them. _How the hell did I end up here? _He asked himself in thought. _And more importantly, how the fuck did I end up being transported a hundred and seventy years in to the future? _For him, this was a lot—no, it was more than a lot—for him to take all in. All this seemed like some sort of sci-fi thing he managed to get himself into. All this seemed like a really, really, fucked up dream his mind managed to come up with. Well, it certainly did a really good job at it. _This doesn't make any fucking sense. At all._

Doctor Therese looked at the private, who was quickly becoming pale and was staring up ahead. She was getting worried. "Henry, are you alright?" She asked him. Whatever thoughts he could muster was quickly extinguished as the doctor broke him out of his trance.

"Oh, I'm fine ma'am—I mean, Therese. Sorry." He managed to recover. He was still a bit surprised at the revelation that he was thrust into almost two centuries into the future. _This shit is getting more and more complicated. _Whatever concerns he still had, he hadn't shown it any longer after the initial shock.

"It's okay, Henry." She said to him and gave him another one of her sweet smiles. "I'm sure you still have a lot of things in your mind, considering where we found you." She stood up from her seat and said. "Now, I'll let you rest a bit more. Dinner will be served in about thirty minutes. Are you sure you're alright, Henry?" She asked again, her face showing worry and concern.

"Yeah, I will be. Thanks for everything, doc." He replied.

"Don't mention it." She replied, smiled one last time before she turned around and went back out towards the door at the end of the room, leaving Rodriguez alone with his thoughts and a lot of questions. _2183, eh? I guess I have lot of catching up to do._

* * *

Two days have already passed since the private first arrived here in the clinic, and still, his questions remained unanswered. For all he knew, he might be in a medically-induced coma back home or that he was captured by the Chinese and he was being interrogated using complicated dreams or something of the like. But, whatever thoughts he had on the matter was still irrelevant. He was still here, in Ferris Fields. _Weird name for a place. _What really troubled him greatly was the fact he was thrust a hundred and seventy years in the future. 2183. Even saying that damn year made the private's head hurt even more. He still couldn't wrap his head around it, being in the future. _This must be every geek's dream to live in a world like this._ He wondered. For now this was, in the private's head, a complete and utter nightmare, a still irreversible clusterfuck that needed to be fixed right the hell now. And yet, he couldn't do even a single damn thing about it. For now, he was safe.

For the duration of his stay here, the good 'ole doctor (Therese Watkins, she said her name was) had visited him and checked up on him regularly. She was a nice lady, who was really sweet and good-natured, caring and polite, which made for an excellent doctor. But, there was one thing that was really put on view whenever she visited him: it was the fact that she was totally and undeniably beautiful. Her face was perfectly sculpted, her eyes weren't that wide or big, it was perfect. Nose wasn't too short or long, her thin lips perfectly accentuating her face. She had a nice rack too…_What the hell am I thinking? Stop thinking about her rack! _He quickly expelled the lustful thoughts aside.

The door at the end of the room opened, and once again, he saw her enter. _Right on time, too. _But, a second person accompanied her, only this time, it was a guy. Caucasian, middle-aged, complete beard, baseball cap on his head…_wait, do I know this guy from somewhere?_ Both of them approached him, flanking Rodriguez on either side of his bed.

"How's he doing, doc?" the middle-aged man asked Therese.

"He's already recovered, he'll be just fine." Doctor Watkins cheerily replied. She set her datapad (that's what she said it was) down and observed the private. "How're you doing today, Henry?"

"I'm fine, ma'am." Rodriguez cheerfully replied.

"Now Henry," she said, mentioning for the middle-aged guy next to him. "This right here is Patrick Knowles, he was the one who found you." _Of course! _He instantly remembered the guy who picked him up when he collapsed on that oak tree. He also remembered another guy, but he could vaguely recall who the guy was and what he looked like.

"I guess I should be thanking you, Mister Knowles." The private respectfully replied. He owed this guy his life.

"It's okay. Henry Rodriguez, was it?" The middle-aged asked for clarification, for which the private confirmed with a nod of his head. "How'd you end up here, son?"

"I honestly don't know, sir." He honestly replied. He still couldn't even believe how he ended up here. "I remembered being pinned in a firefight, then I got shot with a rifle burst in the shoulder. After that, I pretty much blacked out." The older man nodded for him to continue. "After that, I ended up in the middle of nowhere, just walking and walking 'til I found a road with a sign post which told me the next settlement was just two klicks ahead, then walked further until I found an oak tree—"

"—then you collapsed and we found you." Knowles finished for him. "The doctor said you were a soldier, what unit did you serve on?" he asked him again.

"Thirty-Seventh Infantry Regiment, First Infantry Division, sir." Rodriguez proudly responded. Even though there was a strong possibility he wouldn't be seeing his unit again, he was still proud to have known them. _Perez, Herera, and all the others. I'm never gonna forget you guys._

"From the Federated Philippine Army, right?" the middle-aged man asked another question. _What the hell are you—? Oh, right. _

"Yes sir." _Just go with the flow, Henry._

"I kinda thought you were an Alliance marine." _What the hell's the Alliance? _But before he could dwell on it further, the older man kept on going. "Well, you're a helluva long way from Earth, son." The older man told him. "To be honest, I don't quite trust you." _Well, so much for being honest. _Patrick Knowles gives him a stern look, cautiously trying to find anything that didn't quite add up from the story the young man had given him. "But," he stated. _Oh God, please be good news…_"I'll give you the benefit of a doubt." _Thank Christ!_

"I understand, sir." He assured him, relief barely hidden in his voice.

"Well, now that we've gotten over that, Doctor," he left his place on the private's bed side and headed for the door. "I best be heading back. Hope you get better, Henry." After that, he left.

"That went well." Doctor Therese Watkins joyfully replied. "Okay, we're gonna discharge you, tomorrow. Oh, by the way," she reached for the drawer that was beside the bed, and produced a datapad. "This should help you pass the time." She handed it to Rodriguez. "I should get going, I'll see you later Henry." She said, giving him one of those really sweet smile of hers, and left.

_Well, that was interesting…_

* * *

**Please review and tell me what you think. Once again, thanks in advance.**

**-Rookie571**


	4. Crash Course

**A/N: **

**To Eromancer – Yeah, I know. I just wanted to establish his presence into the complete unknowns of the MEverse first. As for the lady issue, Filipinos are by nature conservative fellows. Whenever there's a woman involved, we always show restraint, respect, and shy awkwardness. Blame the Spaniards for embedding that into our heads after three hundred and thirty years of being colonized under their rule.**

**To Endrius333 - thanks bro, I will. :)**

******For now, I give you chapter four. Enjoy!**

* * *

**August 9****th**** 2183 C.E.**

**Ferris Fields**

After Therese's departure from the room, Rodriguez cautiously delved in to the datapad. It was like one of those iPad things back at home, where people were willingly spending huge sums of cash just to get one of those things. _Damn things weren't even worth the cost. _He gingerly grab the thing and set it in front of him, accessing the interface until it showed him the menu. _Let's see…Settings…Games…Omni-tool sync…Ah-hah! Databases. _He gained access and started sifting through all of the information inside the datapad's memory banks. _First things first, whatever happened to my country…_He typed in, "Republic of the Philippines" and pressed, "Search".

He was rewarded with a single result: "Federated Philippine States." _Okaaay._ He accessed it and was rewarded with a picture and a brief summary on the subject.

"_The Federated Philippine States is a federation of semi-independent republics that are composed of the territories of the Philippine Archipelago, Borneo, some parts of Indonesia and Malaysia, and majority of the Spratly Islands…" _He reread the part again, making sure if he was reading it right. _Since when did we get parts of Indonesia and Malaysia?_ He wondered for a brief moment, then kept on reading.

"…_After the Sino-Filipino War of 2013 that resulted in a Filipino victory after the Chinese defeat at the battle of Palawan, and a brief but decisive naval engagement during the Jakarta Incident of 2027 at Sulu Sea which also resulted in the defeat of the combined navies of Malaysia and Indonesia; the Federated Philippine States was officially proclaimed on the 13__th__ of April 2031, combining all the territories of the old Philippine Republic into a federation. The state was considered a superpower, second only to that of the United States of America…"_

_Well, whaddya know, looks like we won after all. _He thought for a moment, then smiled. He was happy, besides the fact that despite their failure during the battle for Scarborough Shoal, despite the sacrifices of his friends and brothers from which he thought was in vain, his country rallied and kicked the Chinese right in the ass. He grinned at that image. After reading about his country for a few minutes, a brief paragraph at the end of the summary caught his attention.

"…_the Federated Philippine States is also a founding member of the Systems Alliance Charter, which unified all of humanity's political, military, and economic bodies into a single, supranational entity that represented all of mankind after the discovery of the Prothean data cache on Mars during 2153…"_

He kept on reading for the better part of what seemed like an hour or so, learning about the Protheans, the Systems Alliance, the First Contact War with an alien species called the turians, and the eventual ceasefire that was put in effect after the Galactic Council intervened, mediating for both sides. After that, humanity was basically lunged at the galaxy's doorstep, meeting several alien races besides the ones they fought: like the blue-ish, mono-gendered and graceful asari; the amphibian fast-paced salarians with their hyper metabolism; and of course, the avian looking and warmongering turians.

He also read on parts about something called "mass effect fields" which made faster-than light travel possible with the use of "element zero" or "eezo", which decreased or increased an object's mass depending on its application. Whatever that was. _This all feels like a sci-fi vid back home. _He wondered and continued reading. Disease and majority of all genetic defects were practically fixed due to advances in medical technology, particularly in the field of gene therapy; and wounds were easily healed with near-instantaneous effect with a healing salve called medi-gel, which was an antiseptic, coagulant, anesthetic, partial tourniquet and gauze all rolled into one. _Looks useful._

What caught the private's interest was the part about weapons. _Heat sinks? Hyper-accelerated paint-chip sized rounds? Almost no need to reload? _He just sat there and stared at his datapad with disbelief, he still couldn't believe what he was seeing. And what really made his mouth gape was when he read the part about kinetic barriers. _Force field generators? Jesus Christ…_That was pretty much the icing on the cake. Everything he had used and learned during his time in the Army was already obsolete and damn useless. Everything he had learned, he compared it with the discovery of the combustion engine during the nineteenth century, which practically made horses useless overnight.

All the things here in the future were all powered by mass effect fields and such. He also read something about some holographic interface computer and fabricator thing called an omni-tool, which was basically a phone, computer, and weapon all rolled into a single piece of tech. _This is fucking unbelievable. _The words, "culture shock" were a complete and utter understatement to describe his predicament. But, whether he liked it or not, he was stuck here. And if he wanted to survive and make it out of this clusterfuck alive, he had to endure all this crap.

And for the next three hours, he read, catalogued, familiarized, and learned all things that were of importance here in the 22nd century. He was so caught up in his research that sleep finally took over and laid his mind to rest after all the initial and shocking revelations he had to endure. _Still. Can't. Believe. This. Shit…_

* * *

"Morning, sleepyhead." He opened his eyes and was rewarded with the sight of Doctor Watkins looking at him with an infectious smile that made him return it in kind.

"Morning, ma'am—I meant Therese." _Damn it, I'm still not getting used to this after four days. _Therese just grinned and typed something in her datapad for a moment then went near his bed side.

"You'll be discharged in just a bit, just finalizing everything before you leave." She said, then looked at him with those blue eyes of hers and continued. "Sleep well?"

"Sure did, doc." He responded politely, stretched for a bit, then exited his bed. As he stood, he realized that he was easily towering the good doctor with a few inches or so. He wasn't really that tall, with what he estimated his height to be around 5'11" or a flat six feet.

"Okay," the good doctor motioned for him to follow. "That's just about it, you can leave now. By the way," she mentioned while they were exiting the room and into the hallway, where the exit was just right ahead. "Patrick wanted to see you after you were discharged, said he wanted to talk." They exited the small clinic, and right there waiting outside was Patrick Knowles, still wearing his trademark baseball cap with his back leaning on the pick-up/rover thing that he saw a few days ago when he was half-dead at that oak tree. He saw both of them approach him and gave them a smile and a wave.

"Listen, if there's everything you need or you want somebody to talk to, don't hesitate to approach me, okay?" she said, which Rodriguez answered with a nod of his head. "Goodbye Henry, be seeing you." She smiled one last time before turning around and going back straight into the clinic. _I'll definitely miss her. _He thought to himself. He continued his approach to the middle-aged man, who was just about a few dozen meters away. He arrived a few moments later.

"Ah, Henry, you feeling better, son?" the older man asked him.

"Yeah, I guess." The older man just flashed him a smile, then motioned for him to get inside the futuristic vehicle.

"Good, because I wanted to talk to you, about who you are, I mean. How about we go to my office and discuss this in private?" _Oh, shit. This is __**not**__ good. _The private just gave Knowles a nod and a smile in return before entering his rover thing.

They rode in silence, neither of them saying anything as they headed towards the place where Knowles was taking him. The private decided to take a look at the colony he was stuck in to pass the time. In all fairness, Ferris Fields was like a small city, where blocky, modular, pre-fabricated buildings dominated everywhere. Solar panels were placed in each of the building's roofs, providing each structure a source of electricity. He also saw a larger solar panel farm that was beyond the settlement, which was protected with a two-meter high metal chain-link fence. He also saw some sort of armored fighting vehicle, its turret small and sleek, etched on the side of the vehicle were the words, "M35 Mako". Surrounding the vehicle were a few soldiers, wearing what looked like an armor/exosuit, topped off with a helmet on their heads with protective visors shielding their eyes. They carried with them rifles, which the private thought was eerily familiar. _Oh, right! Those are Lancer One assault rifles. _He remembered seeing them on the datapad. It was the most standard assault rifle in the market. The datapad told him they were tough, reliable, durable, and dependable; able to fill the air around the target with a good amount of rounds if the user wasn't that accurate enough with the rifle.

The sound of a vehicle honking its horn broke through Rodriguez's gaze, bringing him back to reality. Up ahead was a two-story building, with a rather moderate-size satellite dish, and a bunch of towering poles and antennae which the private could only guess were various communicating and monitoring equipment. _Must be the colony's HQ or something. _He thought to himself. And, he was right, it was. The building was supplemented by a few armored soldiers who were guarding the entrance and patrolling the perimeter.

The vehicle skidded to stop after driving for what seemed like ten minutes or so, and both men exited the rover. Knowles beckoned for the young man to follow, which he quickly obliged. As they approached the entrance, one of the guards greeted Knowles.

"Hey, Pat. This the guy?" the guard asked the middle-aged man.

"Yep." Was all the older man could say. _Guy must have a lot on his mind. _Knowles expression on his face was a bit serious, combined to that one of indifference and being laid back. In other words, totally unreadable.

They proceeded inside the building and walked for a few moments until they found the middle-aged man's office on the second floor. Once they went in, Knowles took a seat behind his desk. "Please, Henry, take a seat." He said, which the young private did immediately. "Now, right now, you might be wondering why you're here in my office?" he said, with a slight smile on his facial expression. _What the hell is this guy thinking about? _

"That thought did cross my mind, Mister Knowles." He replied to the man. His back leaning on the chair's back rest, ramrod straight. It was a habit he couldn't break. Being a soldier does that to you, and right now Knowles looked like an officer investigating one of his men. Though he was a civilian, it didn't make him any less nervous.

"I had the liberty of looking up your name in the Alliance databases," _Oh, God. This isn't good, at all. Fuck! _But the private's expression remained neutral, not betraying any emotion to the man in front of him. The older man went inside the drawer of his desk and retrieved a datapad. "Come and take a look at this." And gave it to him.

Rodriguez accepted the datapad without hesitation and took a peek at it. _What could he possibly want to show me…Oh, son of a bitch. _His eyes widen in shock. In front of him was his picture, alongside a brief summary of everything the Philippine Army manage to compile about him back home.

* * *

_**Armed Forces of the Philippines – Philippine Army**_

_**Personnel Databases**_

_**Name: **__Rodriguez, Henry A._

_**Rank: **__Private_

_**Date Enlisted:**__ 15__th__ September 2012_

_**Date of Birth: **__8__th__ October 1988_

_**Age: **__25_

_**Current Unit: **__B Co. / 2__nd__ Bn. / 37__th__ Inf. Regiment / 1__st__ Inf. Division_

_**Previous Orders: **__As part of the Rapid Defensive Picket on Operation Landfall against the People's Liberation Army Ground Force during the Sino-Filipino War of 2013, was stationed at Outpost Alpha located at Scarborough Shoal to defend the installation and the shoal itself against further Chinese offensive operations._

_**Status: **__Declared missing-in-action (MIA) when the Chinese attacked and overran the outpost on December 3__rd__ 2013. His body was never recovered. Only MIA assessment after the battle and the counterattack that followed._

* * *

Rodriguez just looked at the datapad with complete shock and disbelief_._ His still couldn't believe it, and a small part of him didn't want to. This was too much for him to comprehend, with his eyes still wide-eyed from utter astonishment and incredulity. Patrick Knowles observed the young man in front of him and cleared his throat.

The young man quickly regained his composure and handed back the datapad. _This is fucking insane. _The middle-aged man across him gave of him a sympathetic look and little bit…_skepticism, maybe? _He couldn't tell, exactly. The man was a master of controlling his expressions. The private broke the silence. "So," not caring about his current predicament anymore, "what now, Mister Knowles?" his voice completely emotionless and neutral.

"Well, I could inform the Alliance and let them come get a possible deserter," his voice stated matter-of-factly. As Knowles told him this, the young man just sat there, indifference clearly shown on his body language and facial expression. "a _hundred and ninety-five _year old, deserter." He finished this statement with another slight smile

"But," the middle-aged man continued. "we're in the Terminus Systems, and the Alliance doesn't exactly have any jurisdiction here, and honestly, I don't give a damn about you—" _Thanks for the vote of confidence, you bastard. _"—and yet, you haven't lied to me so far. So like I said earlier, I'll give you the benefit of a doubt." _Okay? _"Still don't trust you, though." He said lastly. _There we go…_

"So, what happens now?" Rodriguez asked him. This guy was now in-charge of his fate here. He could easily put a bullet right between his eyes right now if Knowles felt like it. But, despite the middle-aged man's distrust of him, something about the man tells the private that he wasn't that bad at all. _I'll guess I'll just go with the flow. For now, anyway._

"Well, the colonial militia could use an extra gun such as yourself," Knowles told him. "None of them have any combat experience whatsoever. All of them are green as a damn leaf, every single one of 'em." He chuckled lightly after his statement.

"And what do you want me to do about it, Mister Knowles?" the private's expression still haven't changed a bit.

"I want you to train 'em, Henry. As far as everyone knows, you're the only one who has seen combat first-hand. The guys at the militia are just a couple of eager, inexperienced volunteers. I want you to change that." Knowles told him, grabbing a pitcher of water near him and poured himself a glass, gulping its contents in one swing.

"I don't really have a choice on the matter, do I?"

"Probably, probably not." _Smug bastard, isn't he? _The private pondered on the choice the Knowles gave him—it was more like an ultimatum, really—like what the older man told him, he didn't have much of a choice. And even if he did, what would he do? He was stuck in a world where he didn't know a damn thing about anything. Except war, of course. _I'm probably gonna regret this…but then again, what have I got to lose? Fuck it!_

"You've got yourself a deal then, Mister Knowles." He responded to the older man, finally cementing his position here in this colony, in this world, and into the complete unknown.

"It's just Patrick to you, son. Never really liked being called Mister Knowles." He answered back, with a huge grin completely plastered on his face. To his surprise, it really was a genuine one. No ulterior motives or anything behind. Just something real.

"One more thing," Rodriguez inquired further. "This just stays between us, right?"

"Of course, of course," he said immediately, then opened his drawer to get something else once again. This time, he produced a little square object the size of a box of matches with a wristband surrounding it. "Your omni-tool," he said, then further delved into the drawer and presented another object of interest. This one was small, tiny even, it was a circular thing the size of a pinky finger's nail with a tiny button on the middle. The young soldier arched an eyebrow. _What the hell is that?_ Knowles caught his look and explained further. "It's a communicator, it's how we keep in touch with each other. Place this little thing inside your ear, press the button, and voila! You're all set. Just sync it up with your omni-tool and set it to whatever frequency and setting you like. Oh, don't forget to turn the translator software inside the thing. You know, whenever you talk to some aliens or something." He said. _Translator software? Nice. _

Rodriguez strapped the omni-tool on his left arm and quickly placed the communicator on his right ear, slightly inside the ear canal. _Okay, I'm all set. _His omni-tool suddenly sprang to life, his entire left arm engulfed in an orange holographic interface. He was startled for a bit, then regained his composure. He took a look at his 'tool, which told him if he wanted to synchronize it with his new communicator. He pressed the accept button and the orange glow quickly disappeared just as soon as it appeared. _That was kinda odd…_

Knowles saw his alarm earlier and chuckled lightly. _Probably thinks I'm a fucking idiot. _Then, the young private quickly remembered something that he oughta put his attention to.

"Sir, since I'm gonna be training the militia and all," he said. "when can I start familiarizing myself with the weapons?" The older man looked confused for a moment, then remembered that he really wasn't from around here. He gave the private a smile, then led him out of his office.

"Firing range is just a few meters walk near here, right this way."

* * *

"You set?" Knowles asked the private, wielding a Lancer pattern assault rifle.

"Yeah, I guess." Rodriguez responded, also carrying an assault rifle that was the same as Patrick's. They were in the militia's firing range, which the middle-aged man led him off earlier. And the old geezer was right, it really was just a few minutes trek towards their destination. It was an outdoor range, with nine lanes total, each separated by a divider made of plywood. Him and Knowles occupied lanes three and four respectively, putting on fingerless gloves, protective earmuffs and visors. Each of their rifles were placed in a small table that was standard in every lane, fully cocked and loaded with an armor-piercing tungsten ammo block. They were the only occupants in the range. Ahead of them were various cardboard figures of humans, asari, turians, and salarians.

For Rodriguez's target, it was a charging salarian armed with a pistol. _Whoever made this cutouts sure are creative._ Before they were prepping their shooting exercise, Knowles showed him the basics of handling various firearms: like on how to operate them, maintain, and how to upgrade them if they could get certain parts for it. He was also shown how to tweak a couple of firearms to further maximize their punch, while disabling safety protocols, which tended to completely fry the weapon's entire system and melt the barrel.

"Alright, Henry," Knowles said from the lane next to him. "Let's see what you got."

Rodriguez nodded and pointed his rifle downrange, the stock firmly placed on his shoulder and his eye glued on the weapon's built-in red dot scope. "Now remember," he heard Knowles say, "The rifle's recoil is a bit rough, so be careful." He aimed it on his target, and let loose a three-round burst. _Holy shit! _The recoil really wasn't that bad, at all. Hell, even the M16A2 he had been issued had a bit more kick than this one. Nonetheless, the Lancer produced a manageable recoil to which he was really contented with. He set his rifle down and saw that his rifle burst hit smack dab straight on the salarian's forehead, with a neat spread of about just a few centimeters. _My drill sergeant would've been proud. _He smiled mischievously. Apparently, Knowles saw this as well and was equally as surprised as he was.

"Well, I'll be damned, son." He said softly, then let out a low whistle. "You're damn good with that rifle."

"Thanks." Was all the young man could come up with. After that, he aimed his rifle downrange again and let loose several bursts at various parts of the salarian's body. Another neat spread towards the torso, both arms, legs, hell even the groin down below; all of the bursts accurate, and the spread from the shots still just perfect. For equal measure, he let out one last final burst to the salarian's forehead, just near his grouping earlier. All of which lasted for just about seven seconds. _Hell yeah!_

He looked towards Knowles' direction, and the middle-aged man was just staring at the private's target, completely bewildered with what he just saw. Rodriguez looked at his companion's own target and was surprised: the shots were wide, but some of the shots hit the targets at the torso mostly, some missed completely. The spread wasn't really that great, but just like that of a standard soldier; who wasn't really that good with his rifle, and wasn't that bad either. _How the hell is he missing? _He thought to himself.

He looked at Knowles again, this time the man was staring at him.

"What?" Rodriguez asked, the man's gaze slightly making him uncomfortable.

"How the hell are you doing that?" the old man asked him back, his mouth still gaping with disbelief.

"What're you talking about? Can't you manage the rifle's recoil? Seriously, it's like I'm firing a damn pistol. It's great!" The private happily exclaimed, showing off a toothy grin that further emphasized his excitement. Knowles just looked at him as if he were crazy, then shook his head and continued firing downrange.

"Seriously kid," the man said while his eyes were ahead and his rifle still coughing out shots downrange. "this things bucks like a damn bronco, and yet you practically sent those rounds exactly where they needed to go. You're a natural, son."

"Well, thanks, Pat." He replied, slightly embarrassed about the older man's praise to his skill. He pressed a button that was installed in the side of one of his lane's dividers, and saw his peppered cardboard target switched with a new one. This time it was a turian, wielding a sniper rifle.

_Let the games begin…_

* * *

They continued shooting for thirty minutes at the range until they decided they had about enough. Before leaving though, they both checked the range's holographic ballistics computer to have an overall assessment on their accuracy. Rodriguez was shocked with his results: 99.4% percent. His mouth was agape with astonishment, then he started grinning madly. Knowles' performance was less than satisfactory with a lousy 54.2% But then again, he didn't mind at all, almost expecting that that really was his result. Either way, he didn't really give a damn about it that much. They started walking towards the direction of the previous building they had visited, the colony HQ.

"Well, son," Knowles said. "I gotta admit, you're a damn good shot with that rifle. You sure you haven't fired a gun like that before?"

"Really, no," Rodriguez explained. "I guess those old rifles in the past century have more kick than these new ones. Honestly, it's as if there really wasn't any recoil, at all." And it was the truth. With the advent of mass effect technology, the small mass accelerators inside all of the weapons in this era were a god-send. Rifles in the past relied on adverse, yet simple chemical reactions to propel ammunition at supersonic speeds, at the cost of experiencing some difficult, yet slightly manageable recoil. Damn things were near-impossible to handle when firing them full-auto. But in here, it was somehow easily managed. Which, all the more reason, made the young man appreciate the weapons here.

"Ever wondered how you got here, though?" Knowles asked him again. "You know, cryogenic stasis? Suspension in advanced mass effect fields? Anything?" Rodriguez managed to laugh at that. The middle-aged bastard really wanted to know how he got here, but as much as he wanted to answer him, he honestly didn't have any idea. Which was exactly what he told him.

"Sorry, Pat. I don't even know what the hell you're talking about." Knowles just grumbled unintelligibly and continued walking with the young private towards his office.

"Well, either way, it would've been nice to know how you got here." He told the young soldier. "Anyways, you'll start teaching the militia tomorrow on whatever it is you want to teach them, as long as they learn something useful from it." With that, Rodriguez just laughed again, nearly doubling over.

"Damn it, you're making my stomach hurt." He said with a small glint of tears in his eyes. Then turning serious. "So, who do I report to, tomorrow?"

"Nobody, kid." The man curtly responded. "Like I said, you're the only one who's seen combat. As of now, you'll be their new CO." _Damn, that's just…damn. _He couldn't even find the words to express what he felt about taking command over a bunch of militiamen. Elation, happiness, or astonishment maybe? _Hell if I know._ A few weeks ago, he would've laughed at that notion. A private taking command of an entire platoon? That's just preposterous! But after seeing the evils of combat, and finding out he was lost to another time, like before, he didn't exactly have a choice. Although this time, he was happy to oblige on the offer. The thought of teaching people the means to survive the horrors of war was kind of entertaining. At least that's what he thought.

"How many of them are they, Pat?" he asked Knowles.

"Right now? Hmm, about three hundred and fifty-two of 'em, I think." The man just casually mentioned the numbers off. After that, Rodriguez's brain pretty much shut down. All the excitement of the prospect of command, just gone, in an instant. _I'm…I'm fucking commanding an entire battalion? _He thought to himself nervously. _Jesus Christ. _After that, Knowles pretty much saw the private go pale and looking at ahead with nervous eyes. And he just let out a low, bellowing laugh at his expense.

"Don't worry about it, kid." He said playfully, then patted Rodriguez on the back sympathetically. "I'm shaping over the lives of thirteen thousand men, woman and children, and you don't see me getting nervous." It didn't help at all, and the private paled even more. And for a minute there, the old man was sure that he'd be passing out any moment. But then, the private regained his composure and cleared his throat to speak.

"I just hope you're right about that, Pat."

"I usually am." He boasted proudly. "Well, if you're commanding the militia, might as well give you some sort of rank, here."

"Like, what?" the young private asked him.

"I suppose congratulations are in order then," he said sarcastically, which the private was thankfully oblivious to. Then Knowles continued. "Congratulations…Major."

* * *

**Next chapter will be up in a few days time.**

**-Rookie571**


	5. Tactics and Feelings

**A/N: **

**zzzQNzzz – Once again, thanks man. Yeah, I'm trying to make it as different as all the other S/I works out there.**

**Eromancer – As always, your opinion is greatly appreciated. You're right, for me, I always kinda thought rifles in this day and age have more kick than mass accelerators, as for its weight though, I think it can be managed. If they try to make it more heavier, it would be impractical, but I kinda figured since the protagonist is a soldier, a little weight is nothing he can't handle. As for your last point, I'll make sure to make the proper changes in the next chapter. Again, thanks for your opinion.**

**M. N. Arias – Well, you're in luck, buddy, I guess you'll see it soon enough. **

**corumb – Yeah, I kinda noticed that too. To satisfy your point, he is gonna meet Shepard, but not just yet, I wanna make sure he's established his presence here before going into a bunch of crazy-ass missions. Once more, thanks for taking the time to read this.**

* * *

**August 30****th**** 2183 C.E.**

**Ferris Fields**

It's been a few weeks now since Rodriguez first accepted command of the Ferris Fields Colonial Militia, influencing the three hundred and fifty-two men who made up its entirety. Training them to whichever way he pleased. It was a great honor, and a difficult task, nonetheless. But, he was committed to train this ragtag group of civilians and farmers into an efficient and deadly fighting force. _Either way, no pressure…Yeah, right. _He thought.

When he first saw the militia a day after their brief stint in the firing range, he was quite stunned as to see what he was training: lazy, complacent, bored, and indifferent people who were just sitting around the militia command post, playing games on their omni-tools, shoving food into their mouths, and some were even drinking booze on the job. Drinking! _Who the hell drink's at a time like this! _A day after that, he revisited the command post, displaying off the new, olive green militia fatigues he had just received, with his new rank proudly displayed in his collar and shoulder boards. The guys at the CP took one quick look at him, then resumed to whatever the hell it was they were trying to do. It pissed the private—no, it was major now—off almost immediately. With a deep breath, he quickly started screaming at the group of self-satisfied, sad excuse of soldiers in front of him, conveying his disgust and repulsion at them. The results were almost instantaneous. Men were quickly standing at attention, hell; even the drunk ones stood—right before one of them just plain collapsed on the ground.

After which, he quickly implemented a rigorous training exercise patterned after the one he had experienced back during basic: four kilometer runs every day, complemented with intense hand-to-hand combat drills, a few hours at the firing range, and a stretch at the command post to teach them the basics of military tactics and maneuvers. It was hard work. During the first few laps of the run, men were practically doubling over, panting heavily, and tripping at basically everything, clearly out of shape. He further let loose another string of obscenities that quickly put most of them back in place. At the firing range, it was even more of a disgrace. Most—if not all—were missing their targets completely and their shots splayed wide. Once again, he had to teach them the basics of proper rifle handling and positioning, which he emphasized with a few screams here and there. There were some people who were quickly learning and getting their shots properly downrange, not as good as he was mind you, but still acceptable however. The worst of what could possibly happen was inside one of the CP's conference rooms, during their first learning sessions, where he was teaching a bunch of officer potentials about tactics. When he started throwing terms like, "flanking" or "fire and maneuver" or even "suppression", one of his would-be officers raised his hand and asked, "Sir, what's a flank?"

That was pretty much the nail in the coffin, the sharp pointy stick that was struck in his heart if he was ever a vampire. With a deep sigh, he shook his head and gave himself a not-so-subtle face palm. _This is fucking ridiculous. _So again, he tried teaching the "basic" basics of military tactics, such as the "Rule of Three", where three men made a fire team, three fire teams made a squad, three of them a platoon and so on.

So this was what they were basically doing for the past few weeks, just running for a few kilometers, close-quarters combat training, shooting at the range, and slightly long hours at the command post for a long overdue lesson about the military. They were quickly improving too, where the progress was speaking for itself. They were getting used to the runs, their stints at the range somewhat improving their aim, and had a better, if not, slight understanding of military tactics. And all it took was a little screaming. _No one wonder every drill sergeant in the world did this, it was basically standard procedure. _Knowles would stop by every once in a while to check up on him, making small talk or something like that, to which he surprisingly welcomed. He was actually good company. The middle-aged man was likewise also impressed with his work, saying that he was seeing something like that from an Alliance boot camp.

Now, after three weeks of intense hard work, it was finally paying off. In a way, they were sort of graduating, all of them clearly reminding him of himself once upon a time. All three hundred fifty-two of them were in front him, standing at attention, wearing their militia fatigues proudly and honorably on this fine afternoon. A few weeks ago, they would've been just wearing those just to look cool along with holding a gun. But not today, it would seem. At this moment, they felt like they've earned their right to wear it with pride. After addressing them about the virtues of strength, honor, and courage, his mind was at a blank. _Should I give them some sort of speech? _He pondered for a moment. Some of the nearby colonists stopped whatever it was they were doing and watched them at a distance, their gaze shifting from him towards the recruits. Then, the civilian crowd started to grow, from a handful of people to a sizable crowd, which all the more made Rodriguez nervous. _Ah, fuck it._ With a deep breath, he addressed his men one more time.

"Men, when I first saw you, you were practically a disgrace: drinking, playing games, eating a shit load of junk food. Hell, I even remember Sergeant Litovski standing at attention for one moment, then passing out the next." The battalion gave out a hearty laugh, and the man in question, Staff Sergeant Ivanoff Litovski, looked down on the ground, his cheeks reddening with embarrassment. Rodriguez continued his speech. "But nonetheless, I'm proud of each and every one of you. For not just living up to my standards, but exceeding your own. For that, I wish you luck and God bless. Now, return to your posts for further reassignment. Dismissed." He gave out a crisp salute, from which the battalion returned in kind. After that was done, the major did an about face and walked away from his men, heading towards the direction of the militia HQ.

_From a lowly private to a major commanding battalion in just a few weeks, the world—no, the galaxy—really must be ending. _He thought to himself for a moment and grinned at the thought. It's been almost a month since he first arrived here, and now that he's given some thought about it, he wasn't really that troubled with the fact that he was transported almost two hundred years into the future anymore. Sure, it could take some time getting used to, with all the change in everything he had experience before, but he almost didn't mind at all. Before he arrived here, there wasn't anything at all that was worth mourning from where he came from.

His entire family had all been killed, following an aerial surprise attack launched by the Chinese, shooting down their airliner over at the South China Sea during the opening phase of the war. He didn't really have that much friends before he joined the military, and most of the ones he had known were killed when Bravo Company got its ass decimated at Scarborough Shoal. Girlfriend? _I wish. _He hasn't had one since birth, literally. Sure, he had a few crushes every once in a while, but he figured that he wasn't really that good enough to act up on them. He was just a lowly grunt, after all. _Not today, though._

After walking for the better part of five minutes, he arrived at the militia HQ, which was just a single story building like those from the rest of the colony. There wasn't anything really special about it though, it had a single small-sized satellite dish which gave him the ability to coordinate the militia and everything. Some few sandbag positions with a couple of LMGs and their gunners, a patrolling Mako infantry fighting vehicle accompanied by a team of soldiers, but other than that, there wasn't anything worth noting. He went straight to his office and sat down at the chair behind his desk, powering up the computer terminal in front of him in order to come up with the militia's new patrol rotations.

The militia was composed of a single battalion, which was evenly divided into three infantry companies, Alpha through Charlie, each of them were supported by a contingent of light armor and specialized engineer platoons that could set up turrets, drones and everything in between to back them up. Each of the company's officers were exclusively handpicked by him personally, based on their performance, skill, initiative, and their results during the mock war game simulation he had prepared for them a few days ago that was accomplished just before their graduation. All companies were assigned a certain patrol area of about ten square kilometers each, that was just a few kilometers out of the settlement's main perimeter. Once there, they had to inspect their area of responsibility thoroughly, scouting for anything out of place or anything that could endanger the colony. He also set up their rotations to work in shifts accordingly, where each of the company would be sent in turn with another set in reserve after their initial shift was over; for any emergency to respond to on short notice.

He was so immersed in his work that he didn't notice the door to his office open, revealing a rather familiar face that he expected was the last person he would ever had the chance of seeing again: Doctor Therese Watkins. Her sudden appearance surprised the major, who jumped figuratively about a foot into the air. "Oh, ma'am, sorry, didn't you see there." He embarrassedly replied, subconsciously scratching the back of his head.

"It's quite alright, Henry," she replied, give out a rather cute grin. "Sorry for scaring you though."

"It's fine, ma'am." He answered back, smiling in return. He was so stunned by her sudden arrival that he hadn't had the chance of seeing what she wore: a fitting white v-neck shirt, with a simple pair of jeans that accentuated her lowly curves. In other words, she looked, well, beautiful. _Focus man! _He quickly regained his senses, faced Watkins, and asked, "What bring you here, ma'am?"

"How many times am I gonna remind you, Henry, it's just Therese." She playfully reminded him. Rodriguez just gave her a smile of his own. Every time they saw each other, this was what they usually did. Their playful banter centering around the major's refusal to call her by her first name, which the young man still felt he hadn't earned yet. But, he felt he was finally coming close.

"I'll work on that, ma'am." He said, practically grinning from ear to ear. Therese just gave him a playful swat on the arm.

"Anyways," the young woman said. "Patrick wanted everyone from the colony's council to come to his place to celebrate the militia's completed training. He asked if you wanted to come along. Well?"

"Yeah, sure. Just let me finish up here." Rodriguez said, as he went to conclude the militia's new assignment and shut his terminal down. "Shall we?"

"Whatever, let's go soldier-man." She told him, which gave both of them a whole-hearted laugh out of it. They went outside the militia HQ, where the sky was already darkening from the twin-stars' departure. _It's evening already? Jesus, I must've been that busy._ They rode into the doctor's rovers and sped off towards the direction of Patrick Knowles' residence. As they rode, the major gazed his head upwards to admire the stars above. If here back home, he could've vaguely see them, mostly due to the city's light pollution and the partial smog that obscured the skies. Here, you could see them in all their glory. Since he was literally billons of miles away from home, all the constellations he had come to know and admire were gone. _Oh, well…_

"So," Watkins said, trying to break the silence while driving. "Now that your grunts are ready, what're you planning on doing with them?"

"Just patrolling the colony's perimeter, mostly," he explained to her. "You never know whatever it is that's lurking out there."

"Yeah, this deep into the Terminus Systems, anything can happen." She replied to him, turning the vehicle left to overtake one of the colony's large transport trucks, this particular one filled with grain. "Ever miss where you're from, Henry?" The major thought about her question for a few moments. _Should I tell her the truth? Or come up with some plausible bullshit story? Well, might as well give out some partial truth…_

"Not really, no." he answered simply.

"Why?" she asked him again, this time her voice was laden with genuine curiosity and concern.

"Honestly? There wasn't really anything worth missing back home. I had no family and friends, and the military was the only thing that gave me purpose to get up in the morning." He clarified this to her more. "And after ending up here, though, I guess I found a new reason to care, you know?"

"What about, you know, your girlfriend then, I'm sure she'd mind you going missing." she questioned him, and he could've sworn that she was blushing when she said that, but he wasn't really that sure.

"Never had one, actually." And to that, Rodriguez just laughed, she looked kinda cute when she saw her fluster for moment there earlier. But then again, maybe his mind was just letting him see things. Either way, he was liking her even more. They rode for about four minutes or so until they saw the head of the colony's modest estate ahead. Like the rest of the colony's structures, this one was a single story building, but a bit larger than the rest to signify his status as the colony's de facto leader. Nobody minded, of course, he was good at what he did in making Ferris Fields prosper, so he was entitled to some little comfort.

"We're here." Watkins told him a few moments later, parking her rover in front of Knowles' residence. They both exited the vehicle and went inside the house. There was nothing really special inside, really. The interior was just like everyone else's, a sofa here, a holo-monitor there, a table with chairs on it, a modest kitchen and a couple of design elements that provided some semblance of making this place homey.

"Well, lookey here." Rodriguez heard a voice behind him speak. He didn't need to guess as to who it belonged to. Turning around, he was rewarded with the sight of Patrick Knowles, wearing a simple colony jumpsuit and his ever present baseball cap. Clutched in one of his hands was a bottle of champagne and two crystal glasses in the other. "Fancy meeting you here, Major." The older man told him with a toothy grin.

"I kinda figured you needed the company, Pat." The major replied to the older man, smiling as he does.

"Don't just stand there, Henry boy, follow me. Crowd's right here." He led both the major and the doctor towards the house's backyard.

* * *

"Damn good job you did, Major." Rodriguez was shaking the hand of a stranger, which Therese mentioned to him, was the head of the colony's heavy industry. All the young man could do was smile, shake his hand back with a firm grip, and pretend to know the guy. There were about fifteen other people in the backyard of Knowles' house, each and every one of them in charge of the colony's overall department. There was one guy here who was the head of irrigation, another one in charge of hydroponics, and a woman who made sure that most of the colony's power grid remained operational. In short, all of them important people, the lives of which he was in charge of protecting. Still, the major was touched. All of them took a break from their tight schedules and came here to congratulate his success in completing the militia's training.

The affair wasn't really that spectacular, which Rodriguez appreciated. The last thing he needed was to be in some sort of social gala where he needed a smile plastered in his face wherever he went. Hell, this wasn't even that much of a party. It was more like a normal get together, were Knowles was cooking something over his grill, something about making varren steaks. Whatever the hell that was. Still, it was actually cool for them to have this sort of thing. All of them here were really pleasant company, where they were just chilling, having a few drinks, and talking about anything other than work, whether it was the planet's weather, sports, and current events. One event in particular was in heavy discussion, and he decided to listen in on whatever it was they were talking about.

"_Did you hear about what happened to the Citadel?" _one man asked another.

"_No, what happened?" _the other asked back.

"_The geth tried to launch a full-scale invasion, where there was this one dreadnought of theirs that tore through the Citadel Fleet like it was nothing."_

"_You're shittin' me," _a third man exclaimed. _"There's no way that could've happened! Have you seen how big the Destiny Ascension is? Its guns could outclass every ship that's out there!"_

"_No, I'm telling ya, it happened alright." _The man who started the discussion told them.

"_How the hell would you know that, anyway?" _the second man questioned him.

"_I've got a friend who's with the Alliance at Arcturus Station, said that the entire Fifth Fleet was mobilized and sent to assist the Council races, half of their ships got wiped out trying to take out that geth dreadnought that was spearheading the assault. Eight cruisers gone," _the first man snapped his fingers to emphasize his point. _"just like that."_

"_Jesus Christ," _the third man said out loud. _"When was this?"_

"_About a couple of weeks ago, I think."_

"_Damn, what happened to the Council's fleet?" _a fourth man joined in.

"_The turians lost about twenty of their cruisers, the asari got most of their frigates annihilated, and I heard the salarians lost just one frigate. Just one!" _the man cried out.

Before Rodriguez could listen in further on the group's discussion, he felt a slight tap on his right shoulder. Turning around, he saw Therese Watkins, champagne glasses on both hands, and a smile firmly in place. She extended her right hand and gave one of the champagne glasses to him and clinked it with hers. "Cheers." She said, before chugging her glass' contents.

Rodriguez just smiled, this girl was unbelievable. Without a moment to lose, he up ended his own glass and downed his drink in one swig. He could still taste the sweet, yet bitter tang of strawberries in the champagne. Still, it tasted good. _Must've been expensive. _

"So," she said, with a slight glint in her eyes. "how's the man of the hour?" Rodriguez just chuckled at that. He could've sworn that she was slurring with her words, but as always, he wasn't quite sure what to make of it.

"I'm fine ma'am, what about you?" he asked back.

"Just great, actually," she responded ecstatically. "The champagne's great! Lost count on how many glasses I've had." _I stand corrected. _The major thought to himself. The good 'ole doctor here had too much to drink. As she stood to get herself another drink, Rodriguez stopped her, gently putting his hand on her shoulder.

"Whoa, ma'am, where do you think you're going?" The major asked her good-humoredly.

"What? I'm just thirsty, that's all." She told him back with a sly grin, as she stood up again to head towards the beverage table. _Jesus, she's as stubborn as I am. _For the second time around, the major grabbed one of her arms smoothly, and cleared his throat. Therese stopped in mid-step and faced him, her blue eyes staring at his.

"I think that's enough booze for one day, wouldn't you agree on that ma'am?" he reminded her, with a smile to let her now that he was half-serious. She grumbled something unintelligible then sat back down, her arms crossed as she was pretending to be frustrated.

"Fine," she said, her voice still cheerful. "Only because you're that good-looking—" she added without thinking. When she realized her mistake, her eyes widened, and she placed her hand on her mouth as if to prevent telling the words that already came. "What I meant was…you—you know…uh, it's kinda hard to explain…and, uh…" as she tried to explain further, her cheeks were starting to blush with the red of embarrassment, clearly sobering her up. Rodriguez just sat there, his facial expression still neutral after her initial outburst. Then after about a few seconds or so, he started laughing, nearly doubling over the chair from which he was sitting on.

"At ease, ma'am," he told her in between laughs. "I guess you really _had_ too much to drink." Therese just sat there, both of her hands in her lap, her head still looking down with her cheeks still blushing from her earlier revelation. _Aww, she looks so cute. _The major just sat there across from her, his gaze still locked on to her face. _Shoulder length brunette hair, perfectly sculpted face, and those thin lips of her_…What most captivated the private about her were those pale, baby blue eyes. He could stare at them all day and he still wouldn't get enough.

As Rodriguez held his gaze on her eyes, the doctor suddenly looked up, her own eyes meeting his, both of them not saying anything as they just sat there in comfortable silence. With that, she gave out a smile, this one different from all the others ones she'd given him, where this one pretty much told him everything she felt about him; admiration, adoration, appreciation…something even more, maybe? He couldn't tell, but right now, he didn't want this moment to end.

"What?" she said to him, her eyes still on his.

"You really think I'm good-looking, ma'am?" he told her teasingly, one of his eyebrows raised to emphasize his point even further.

"Oh, shut up." She told him back lightheartedly. Both of them laughed at that for about a minute or two. But, as much he wanted to continue talking further, he knew he still had something to talk to Knowles it.

"Hey, have you seen Knowles around?" he asked her. The look on her face changed for a second there, her expression a bit crestfallen, then returning back to its cheerful disposition. That practically made Rodriguez guilty for having to go look for the middle-aged man.

"I think he's over at the roof, somewhere. Something about clearing his head." She explained to him.

"Great, I'll be right back, though. Don't you go anywhere." He told her right before showing off a big grin. _Should I? She practically might mistake it for something else…Oh, fuck it._ Without holding back, he leaned in, gave her a quick peck on the cheek, then left quickly searching for Knowles. Before he left though, he saw the young woman blush furiously then giving off one of her trademark smiles. _I could get used to this. _His grin still firmly etched on his face.

As he wandered inside the older man's house for a minute or two, he saw the ladder that led him towards the roof and climbed on it. A few seconds later, he was there, seeing Knowles leaning on one of the roof's railings with a drink on one of his hands. The middle-aged man saw him climb up and nodded to him, smiling as he did so. He went to him, slowly walking towards the older man.

"Beautiful, ain't it?" Knowles just said out loud, his head clearly gazing up on the clear skies above, were the stars were basically just showing off and twinkling in all its brilliance. The major couldn't help but agree on his statement.

"Yeah," he told him back, his own head turning upwards. "it sure is." They stayed silent for a few minutes, their heads just looking up, taking in the magnificent view that was just up ahead. For a moment, the major just forgot all his troubles: his family's death, his friends' last stand at the Shoal, his sudden leap in towards the future. Everything, just plain vanished. Still looking up, what clearly was on his mind was Therese. He couldn't stop thinking about her. She was smart, charming, funny as hell, and she was beautiful, not just in looks to, there's just something about her that makes him feel all gooey inside. _Gooey? Sheeeit, something must be definitely wrong with me. _

"So," he heard Knowles voice next to him. "what bring you here, Major?" He lowered his head and faced the older man, whose expression of happiness and contentment was still remaining in place. _Wonder what this old bastard's happy about…_

"I just wanted to ask about my files in the databases," he began inquiring. "if you could gain access to them, what's stopping some other curious guy from doing so?" Knowles just let out a bellowing laugh for a few seconds right before regaining his composure.

"I have it covered, son," the middle-aged man assured him confidently. "so don't you worry about a thing."

"If you don't mind me asking Pat, how?" Rodriguez questioned him ardently; ever since he got here and found out that Knowles knew about him simply because he typed in his name on some search bar, the thought of others finding out about his identity kept him up on most nights. _I mean if this guy could do it, why not the others? _Besides, if Pat could guarantee his identity was still kept a secret, he wanted to know how he did it.

"I know a guy who used to be part of Alliance Intelligence," Knowles told him softly. "me and him go way back, and he owes me a few favors. Anywho, guy's the best hacking and encryption specialist I know, and I got him to get your file heavily encrypted and kept classified ever since our little talk in my office. High security clearance too, nobody can take a peek at it." _Seriously? Just…wow, did he really do that for me? _The young man was curious as to why he would do this for him, and that was exactly what he would ask.

"Why would you do that for me, Pat? You barely even know me." With that, the older man once again just chuckled lightly.

"Figured about time you already earned my trust, kid." He simply told him. "And I trust you completely to keep this colony safe." If Rodriguez wasn't mistaken, this guy actually meant what he said, which actually made him all the more grateful towards the old geezer.

"Thanks." Was all the major could say to him. Once again, they just sat there and continued looking at the stars for a few moments, but then the young man forgot something that he still needed to attend to. "Anyways, I gotta go, old-timer. Got something I gotta take care of." As he headed towards the ladder, he heard Knowles bellow out another laugh, which made him all the more curious as to what the reason is. "What?"

"Just treat her right, son, that's all I ask." He told him humbly. _What the hell is he talking about? Ohh, riiiight. I think he knows. Well…time to feign ignorance._

"What the hell are you talking about, Pat?" the young man asked him, hoping to misdirect him with something he could come up with.

"Can it, Romeo. I saw what you did down there," he said smugly. _Oh shit, he knows! And he saw! _The old man just grinned continuously, but then he went on: "About damn time, too. You know, she never did shut up about you ever since you got here." With that, he kept laughing once more. Rodriguez just stood there, feeling his cheeks blush quickly. _Goddamn it, Pat! _Without saying a word, he turned around and went for the ladder, Knowles laughter following him as he goes.

As he arrived back at the backyard, he saw it was almost empty, only a few people remained out of the original fifteen that first got here. _Where is she…? Ah! There. _He saw Doctor Watkins ahead about a few yards away, leaning at the railing that showed her a magnificent view of the colony of Ferris Fields. He approached towards her slowly, thinking about all the things he was going to say, and hoping to God he wouldn't mess it up, somehow. Knowing Murphy's Law, that might bound to happen anyway. _Damn it, man! Focus, you __**are **__going to tell him how you feel, and you __**are**__ going to succeed. _His mind confidently reminded him. Taking a few more deep breaths, he slowly closed the distance between them. As he went near her, Therese turns around and sees him approach, giving out one of her damn irresistible smiles.

He felt his heart race quickly, his mouth going dry, and his stomach doing something he couldn't possibly understand. _Just tell her…stuff…wait, what?! _As he stood beside her, he opened his mouth to say everything he had come up with in his mind earlier. But instead of words coming out, there was only silence. All the stuff he had planned on saying died down on his throat. _You gotta be fucking kidding me, so much for confidence. Fuck! _"I—I'm…uh, well…you know…" he stammered slowly, his words still stuck down on his damn throat.

Next to him, Therese just stood there patiently, her own eyes locked on with his. But this time there wasn't anything else that was gonna ruin this moment. All of it felt so right, yet he hadn't had a clue on what to do next. Though he wanted to tell her badly how he felt about her, but the words just wouldn't form up, and his mind was basically out of service, making the young man unable to make a single coherent thought.

Watkins just giggled for a few moments, clearly enjoying the major's apparent nervousness. So she just did the last thing he quite expected for her to do; she went closer to him, her hands on both of his soldiers and gave him a slow, lingering, kiss on his cheek. Rodriguez stood frigid for a moment, not a single muscle twitching for movement, staying rock solid for a few seconds or so, not realizing that we was holding his breath. _No way, that sneaky little minx…_

"You just had to do that, didn't you?" he finally told her, surprised at himself for finally finding his voice.

"Well," she said to him, a sly grin forming on the corners of her mouth. "you started it, figured it was time to for payback." The major took hold of one of her hands, intertwining it with his own, and gave it a gentle squeeze. Right now, he was the luckiest man in the world—screw the galaxy, it's not his place to give a damn about it. Rodriguez thought about all the shit he had to endure just to get here, but right now, he was thankful it had all happened. Regardless, it still gave him some small measure of a happy ending.

For now, anyways.

* * *

**Awww, hahaha. I always suck at writing something normal. Oh well, one last happy ending before the shit hits the fan. :)**

**-Rookie571**


	6. First Contact

**October 28****th**** 2183 C.E.**

**Ferris Fields**

"Please tell me you're kidding." Major Henry Rodriguez uttered in disbelief, his hand still in his forehead, unable to take the news he'd just received.

"I'm sorry, sir," the mechanic right in front of him replied. "the gyroscopic stabilizers in this here Mako's completely broke, no way to fix it." They were at the militia HQ's garage, where in front of both of them was one of the colony's M35 Mako infantry fighting vehicles, with its turret removed from the main hull, which was suspended a few meters above with a couple of chains and a winch, where they were trying in vain to repair it. "Whoever used to own this piece of crap didn't really care to fix the damn thing."

"So," the young man began. "what about the other systems? Eezo core, fuel cell, suspension?" inquiring further into the vehicle's fate. If its offensive systems were a no go, he had an idea that was just right on top of his head on how to further make use of the vehicle's potential, even without its weapons.

"Yeah, all of the other essentials are still in order." The mechanic said to him in a heavy Southern accent. "But what the hell do you have in mind for this damn thing? Without a turret, it might as well be a damn taxi for all we can make of it." And that was what Rodriguez was counting on.

"Can you remove all of its armament systems? And I mean all of it: the heat sink, the power cell for its one-fifty-five and coax, everything?"

"Sure, but what the hell are you gonna plan on doing with this piece of junk, anyway?" the older man asked him again, preparing the tools necessary for his next task which he was sure to follow.

"I'm turning this baby into a mobile command center," the young told him. "I want you to put on additional radios, more seats for the command crew, and a couple of portable holo-projectors for me to conduct my operations." The mechanic in front of him just laughed.

"You sure are full of ideas, kid. Fine, I'll do it, should be done in about a few hours or so." And with that, he went inside of the now turret-less vehicle and started removing the necessary components for him to allow placing the major's new modifications for it. With that out of the way, Rodriguez exited the garage, barely walking for about a few meters when he was quickly approached by his executive officer clutching a datapad. _Great, never a dull moment around here. _He thought to himself bitterly. After the thing with the Mako earlier, he was hoping to get a few moments for himself, maybe even visit Therese at the clinic. He mentally swore, for now, he still had his duties to attend to.

"Sir," Captain Adrian Walters snapped a quick salute before proceeding with his latest report. "the battalion quartermaster told me he wants to see you in his office, says he got something that might interest you." The captain quickly handed out his datapad for him to see. Grabbing it, he eyed the details on what was in it. _Interesting._ It showed him the specs of a certain type of equipment, and the young officer was right, this really did get his attention after all.

"Lead the way, Walters." The younger man nodded quickly then walked away, with Rodriguez following along. When he first trained the militia all those months ago, he remembered seeing Walters, who was still this skinny nineteen-year old teenager that could barely even hold a gun, let alone shoot it. As they proceeded with the training and its various exercises, the young kid exceeded everybody's scores by a huge margin. He showed great tactical understanding and initiative during their time at the militia's conference rooms, swiftly learning everything there is to know about the military and all its strategies and tactics. At the firing range, he also learned quickly on how to shoot a rifle, nearly surpassing him at his own game. Fast forward a couple of months later, the once skinny teen now became a one of this place's finest colonial militiamen, who would someday succeed the major as head of the Ferris Fields Colonial Militia. And for that, he was proud.

After walking for a few minutes, they entered the militia command post quickly, where the two guards stationed there offered the officers a quick, crisp salute to which they returned in kind. As they made their way inside, they found the door which led to the quartermaster's office and opened it. Sitting there behind a desk was an older man in his mid-fifties, with a balding head, a cigar firmly placed on his mouth, and a lone datapad being held in front of him. When he saw the officers enter, he gave a grievous smile and stood to accommodate them. "Ah, Major, good to see you," Specialist George Sutherland greeted him, shaking Rodriguez's hand with a firm grip.

"Likewise, George." The major shook his hand back with equal fervor. After that, Sutherland gestured both of them to sit, to which they quickly complied. The older man took a seat himself and went straight to business.

"So, what do you think, major?" the battalion quartermaster asked him.

"It's impressive, I can tell you that much, what is it exactly?" Rodriguez inquired further on the new equipment he was informed earlier.

"It's called the M143 Rapid Fire Support System, sir." Sutherland told him. "the boys at Alliance R&D call it the Devastator. It's like a slightly large footlocker with a dimension of about four by two meters. When deployed, it's armed with six, meter-long missiles that are each armed with about a dozen egg-sized proprietary Hahne-Kedar sub-munitions, which have the explosive power of a slightly juiced-up grenade or biotic blast. Now, a single missile has about an effective radius of about, say, thirty meters, completely saturating that area with a high-explosive yield, which I can assure, will ruin somebody's day." With that, the specialist gave them a rather devious grin.

"What's its effective range, then?" the major asked Sutherland.

"It depends on the ordnance, really. Since we're gonna use the standard CGM-12's, I'd say about twenty kilometers." The older man told him matter-of-factly.

"Sounds like the exact, fire support I desperately need." Rodriguez said to the older man, then pondered for a few seconds. All this really is impressive, but with that, it must be expensive as hell to acquire this piece of heaven. "How much do you think this'll cost?"

"Well, the budget can cover around three launchers, I think," the specialist replied with a finger tapping his chin, "then we can also acquire about...twenty-seven missiles for them. If we run out, we can always order more, I'm sure Knowles wouldn't mind the price cost if it means protecting this colony."

"How long will it take for those launchers to get here?" Captain Walters asked the older man.

"If we contact the suppliers now, we can get them delivered here at about nineteen hundred hours," Sutherland responded to the battalion XO, and then faced the major. "Should I make the call, sir?"

"Do it." The head of the militia stood up from his chair, shook hands with the battalion quartermaster once more, and left his office, with the captain in tow. "There anything more for this day, captain?" he asked his executive officer.

"Well, everything's pretty much in order, sir." The younger man told him as they started heading towards straight into the major's office. "Patrols are out and scouting, they haven't found anything of importance. Other than that, it's green across the board, sir." They arrived into the office, with Rodriguez quickly taking a seat behind his desk, while Walters stood in front of him, still at parade rest, with his feet spread a foot apart and his hands behind his back.

"That'll be all, captain. Dismissed." Walters snapped a quick salute, did an about face, then left. With that completely settled with, Rodriguez exhaled loudly. All in all, it was just another normal day at work here in the peaceful colony of Ferris Fields. Not that he was complaining though, he already saw what war was like first-hand, and that wasn't something he wished to relive again if had anything to say about it. In here, it was practically paradise. And he was his own boss, with no one screaming at him for something to do. _This is the life. _He thought happily. Stable job, a nice workplace, and something to go home to; he smiled at that thought. The major and Therese had it off the moment they started dating, and now they were living together. It all seemed awfully fast, but he didn't care. At the moment, he was happy, and he was quite contented with everything he had in this place. He checked his chrono and saw that it was already fifteen minutes past 1800. The Devastators would arrive in about less than an hour, but the quartermaster had it covered. Right now, he decided he was going home early, surprise Therese, eat some of the delicious home-cooked meal she had been known to make, and get a good nights' rest. He'd earned it.

* * *

The alarm next to him sprang to life, it's constant beeping sounds quickly making Rodriguez wake up from his deep slumber. He outstretched his arm and shut down the interface. Next to him, Therese stretched her arms while giving out a long, steady yawn. "What time is it?" she asked him groggily.

"Five in the morning," he replied instantly, then added happily: "Got someplace you need to be?" The woman just swatted him in the arm playfully.

"No, today's my day off, and I plan on sleeping the whole day, thank you very much." She told him, then took hold of the bed's blanket to cover most of her body.

"You're no fun, babe." The major said, leaning towards her to give her a quick kiss on her lips before getting out of bed. Last night was certainly as enjoyable as he had expected. They had dinner, where they had synthesized pork that was drenched in barbecue sauce, basil leaves, and paprika. Damn thing tasted good, too. He expected that, of course. After that, they watched this movie Therese just got off the extranet called, _"Vaenia", _which was basically an asari chick flick that looked a lot like softcore pornography disguised as a feature film. Afterwards, they opened up a bottle of locally made Ferris Fields wine and drank the entire bottle. All in all, it was a fun night for him and the doctor. One of many to which he was hoping he'd have to do for the rest of their lives.

As he approached the bathroom, he stripped out of his clothes and turned on the shower, letting the cold water from the nozzles wash away the slight hangover and stress he had endured the previous night. A few moments later, he was finished and dressed in his usual olive-green militia fatigues, his name and rank displayed proudly on the clothing. After that, he said his farewell to Therese and went outside to take the rover to work.

_Just another day at the office._

* * *

"The Devastators have already been prepped and issued to the engineer platoons," Captain Walters explained to him. They were both at the major's office, inquiring on today's events, unit dispositions and its activities. "They've already been briefed about its operation and maintenance. For reasons of mobility, we managed to set the launchers on some modified rovers to maximize operational flexibility." Rodriguez looked away from his computer terminal for a moment and looked at Walters, confusion spread on his facial features.

"I don't remember issuing that order, captain." He told the young officer with a questioning look. The captain regarded the major's look as if he'd insulted his superior officer and took on an apologetic tone.

"I'm sorry, sir. I thought that it'd be okay to modify them in my position as your executive officer and thought you'd share the same idea as I have." Walters continued fidgeting, nervous energy apparent on his body language. It took Rodriguez all his willpower not to laugh on his XO's apparent discomfort. Taking a neutral tone, the major explained in further.

"It's okay, captain. I'm not pissed about it, just surprised, that's all." He calmly told him. "Though, you should've informed me earlier about it. Still, it's actually a good idea, Walters, for that, you should be commended for your initiative and creativity." The captain looked surprised for a bit, his mouth hung open. He expected that he was to be reprimanded. Recovering quickly, he thanked his superior officer for his thoughts, then continued with his reports.

"The mobile command center you asked is ready for deployment, sir. You can take a look later on the garage if you wish."

"Great, is that all?" The captain nodded. "Alright then, I want you to head towards Charlie Company and give them a quick inspection, make sure to keep 'em in their toes. Dismissed." Walters snapped a quick salute and quickly left his office.

Suddenly alone with his thoughts, Rodriguez quickly wondered about the militia's overall readiness. Each of the soldiers here in the battalion was properly issued a Lancer pattern assault, a Karpov semi-automatic pistol, and a general-purpose medium-grade hard suit that both optimized mobility and protection. That takes care of his thoughts for general infantry engagements. What worried the major most was the lack of individual anti-armor and anti-vehicle weapons. Sure, they had the Makos, but there were only four of them, three of which are the only ones with operational turrets. They had decent fire support in the form of the Devastators, but other than that, there still weren't any deterrence against armored vehicles. _I maybe overthinking a bit too much. _He thought to himself.

Willing his body to relax, he let out a sigh and went back to typing away on his computer terminal, taking care of the militia's daily reports, scouting reports, fuel and food consumption, just pretty much everything in between. It felt like he was typing for hours, and with no end in sight.

Suddenly, his omni-tool winked into existence, his entire left arm once again immersed

in an orange holographic interface. It told him he was receiving an incoming call from someone inside the militia building. Without further ado, he accepted the call and was rewarded with a tired voice on his communicator.

"_Sir, this is Overwatch," _the voice told him. _"we've got an incoming transmission from one of our perimeter scouts, said it was urgent." _Overwatch? The major deliberated for a second what the callsign meant and who it was that was calling him, then remembered it was from the militia's communication department.

"Patch it through, Overwatch." He ordered with a curt, professional tone.

"_Roger, patching them now…" _the voice said, then it was replaced with another, this one patting heavily and whispering softly. _"Homebase, this is Bodark Two-Three, we're seeing some activity ahead, over." _Bodark 2-3 was a nine-man squad on Bravo Company's 2nd Platoon, which he remembered was under the command of Staff Sergeant Ivanoff Litovski.

"Solid copy, Two-Three," he told the voice on the other hand. "Send traffic, over."

"_Roger, report as follows: we're seeing a couple of dropships landing about a few klicks ahead of us, dismounting batarian infantry, and lots of them, over." _Rodriguez thought if he heard it wrong for a second. _Batarians? Here? What the hell are they planning on doing here? _His mind was in overdrive now, quickly focusing on keeping this threat contained and neutralized. Once again, he spoke on his communicator.

"Bodark Two-Three, give me a quick headcount on unknown batarian presence, over." He quickly ordered as he stood from his chair and made his way towards the command post's communications room.

"_Solid copy, Homebase. We're seeing about…let's see…" _the voice on the other end was silent for a few seconds, and the major could hear someone counting softly on the radio. _"Homebase, we estimate about five-zero plus hostile infantry armed with assault rifles, pistols, grenade launchers and…is that a net?" _the voice seemed to ask, but not directing the question towards Rodriguez, and he waited patiently, hearing someone say "looks like it" on the other end, then the other voice continued: _"Sir, we're seeing what looks like a batarian slaver operation in progress. Please advise, over."_

"Roger Two-Three, standby." He quickly told the voice. As he arrived inside the comm room, he could see two men operating a bank of monitors, their eyes just glued to the screen in front of them. Seeing him enter, both men turn around with confused looks on their faces as they see him approach. He quickly ordered them to action. "I want the entire battalion on standby and tell the CO's of Alpha and Bravo companies to prep for deployment, now!" Both men swiftly worked on their orders, barking out on their own comm units and informing the entire militia to be on high alert. As his task on alerting the battalion was concluded, he returned to his conversation with the recon element: "Bodark Two-Three, this is Homebase. You still there?"

"_Roger, sir. We read you five-by-five, over." _The voice replied to him immediately.

"Be advised Bodark, stay in place, avoid enemy contact and continue reporting on enemy dispositions. Acknowledge." He said the last word with a commanding tone.

"_Solid copy on all, Homebase. Out." _And with that, the conversation was terminated. In front of him, the com operators were frantically trying their best in quickly whipping the battalion's platoon leaders into combat readiness.

"Sir," one of the operators said to him. "battalion reports it's ready for deployment."

"Good," Rodriguez said to man, "inform Charlie Company to set up defensive positions around Ferris Fields. And tell the CO's of Alpha and Bravo to meet up with me at the colony's northern outskirts with their respective units," both of the comm operators barked in the affirmative and went to do their respective tasks. A few seconds later, they reported that all of units received their corresponding orders. "Good, now both of you, come with me."

The two comm operators looked at each other for a few seconds or so then followed their commander as he went outside and exited the militia headquarters, heading towards the garage. All around him, he could see his entire battalion prepping for action. Men were running towards their respective posts, putting on their hard suits, prepping their weapons and making last-minute checks on all sorts of various equipment. He arrived on the garage, saw the mechanic, and quickly approached him. "Is the Command Mako ready?" he asked the older man simply.

"Yeah, radios are there sir, along with the holo-projectors." Rodriguez just nodded to him and motioned for both comm operators to get inside the now turret-less vehicle. Before he went inside, he reached for his communicator and contacted Charlie Company's CO.

"_Crimson Six, here." _The voice on the other end quickly responded.

"Lieutenant, this is Ferris Six. Send me four men here on the double, and make sure one of them knows how to drive a Mako."

"_Yes, sir!" _the officer of Charlie responded before cutting off the line. Two minutes later, four men arrived at the garage after running their way towards their way there and saluted the major. He quickly shouted for them to get in, which they quickly obliged. Once all of them were inside, Rodriguez ordered one of the men from Charlie Company to take the wheel and drive them towards the northern outskirts.

The two comm operators were quickly activating the holo-projectors and were setting up the necessary connections to effectively run the entire militia on the move. As the armored vehicle rumbled to life and made its way towards their destination, the major wondered if all the training he had implemented on the men would be enough. _It has to be, damn it. _He quickly put aside all hesitant thoughts and went back to commanding the battalion.

"You," he pointed to the first com operator, "what's Bodark Two-Three's current position?" The man played around with the holo-projector for a few seconds before answering him.

"Nine kilometers north of Ferris Fields, sir," he told Rodriguez. "They're located at grid zero-six-four-niner." The major nodded with the intel and pointed to the second comm operator.

"Alert Buffalo Troop and tell them to prep for possible engagement at grid zero-six-four-niner," the second man nodded and went on with his task. Buffalo Troop was the militia's armored platoon of three M35 Makos. He had to use them carefully. If the enemy managed to take them out, they would tip the scales of the coming battle in their favor. And the major couldn't allow that.

"Sir," the first comm operator called out. "Patrick Knowles is on the line, he's asking what the hell's going on."

"Patch him though," the man did as he was asked and set up the connection.

"_Henry, what's going on?" _he could hear the older man's voice laced with concern and outrage. _"I'm seeing the militia all around here running setting up sandbags and machine guns all over the colony."_

"Pat, listen to me," he calmly explained to the colony's leader on the communicator. "we have batarian slavers en route to the colony even as we speak. I'm trying to launch a pre-emptive strike and hit 'em first."

"_Jesus H. Christ," _he heard Knowles swear on the line. _"what's your plan here, Henry?"_

"I'm gonna hit them with everything we've got, Pat. For now, I want you to make sure the colony won't panic. Can you do that?"

"_Yeah, I can. This is unbelievable. Anyway, I won't keep you any longer. Good luck out there, kid." _After that, Knowles severed the connection. All around the major, everything was bathed in red light. The com operators were busy trying to coordinate everyone in the battalion to do their assigned tasks, and the three men he brought with him from Charlie Company were sitting in their seats, gripping their rifles tightly as the anticipation of combat made them uneasy and nervous. He couldn't blame them, he was like that himself when he faced off against the Chinese once upon a time. As the vehicle they rode in continued buckling with movement, it was made even worse as it went off-road, the driver up ahead shouted that they would arrive at the outskirts momentarily.

Once again, Rodriguez thought to himself if he had done everything right in training the three hundred and fifty-two souls that composed the colonial militia, because if he somehow messed this up, he would have the blood of the entire militia in his hands. And that was something he didn't want to experience.

_God help us._

* * *

"What's the plan here, major?" the captain in charge of Alpha Company asked Rodriguez. They were on the outskirts of Ferris Fields, where the commanders and platoon leaders of Alpha and Bravo gathered around him near the mobile command Mako. The enemy was just up north, prepping their forces for their eventual assault towards the colony. The major motioned for all the officers and senior NCOs to come closer so they all could hear his impromptu briefing.

"Alright, we don't have much time so listen up," Rodriguez told them with a slightly loud voice so everyone could hear. "Bodark Two-Three reported that the batarian presence is somewhere near grid zero-six-four-niner, which is just that way, nine klicks." he pointed north and resumed talking. "For now, they still don't know we're mobilized and I want to keep it that way until the moment we hit 'em with a barrage from the Devastators. By the way," he turned to face the overall commander of the engineer platoon that had their fire support. "are your men ready with the big guns?"

"We were briefed on how to set them up and operate them, sir," the man told him quickly. "but I just wish we had more time to familiarize ourselves with the equipment and everything."

"Time is a luxury we don't have, lieutenant," Rodriguez told the man sternly. "You have until four minutes to ready yourselves, then I give the order to unleash hell on those four-eyed freaks." The man just nodded understandingly. He couldn't exactly blame the man for not being ready, they just received their equipment yesterday and were still not used to their new toys. "Okay," he addressed the entire command group once again. "Here's the plan: Alpha, I want you spearheading this attack. Set up around grid zero-four-six-niner and wait for my order to hit them with everything you've got once the barrage is over. Bravo, I want you to guard Alpha's flanks. If they somehow managed to break the encirclement, overwhelm them and prevent their penetration. If they break through, we're done. Set up a platoon in reserve just in case they somehow exceeded in breaking out. Are there any questions?" he asked all of them one more time and looked around. One officer raised his hand.

"Sir, what about their numbers?" the younger man asked him. "How many of them are they?"

"Bodark Two-Three estimated about fifty plus hostiles armed with basically everything from rifles to grenade launchers," he answered the officer's question quickly. "but if they somehow managed to get in reinforcements, I'll let Buffalo Troop roll in and finish them off." That seemed to satisfy the officer's question and he gave a sharp nod. "Any more questions?" he looked around once more. Seeing that there weren't any, he quickly dismissed them and went back inside his command Mako and closed the hatch, once again bathing everything in an ominous red light, signifying their high-alert status. The com operators were still busy with their tasks and the armed escort they got from Charlie Company was still fidgeting with nervousness and eagerness at the same time. Ahead, the driver turned around from his seat.

"Where to, sir?" the younger man asked him.

"Just follow Alpha's troop transports and set up behind them once they're dug in." Rodriguez told him. The driver nodded and started the Mako's engine, the vehicle reverberating to life as it proceeded to head towards its destination.

"Sir," the first comm operator—Specialist Higgins he said his name was—said. "Bodark Two-Three reports that the batarians overall strength has increased to about a hundred plus hostiles accompanied by several varren attack teams." _Damn it! _He mentally swore to himself. He was hoping that the enemy's force would just be a reinforced platoon and nothing more. But, this changed everything. Alpha Company wasn't encircling an understrength opponent anymore, it was on its way to engage an enemy who had the same strength as they have. Which derailed his plans altogether. "Higgins! Get me a link to Alpha and Bravo's commanders, now!" The operator and complied and quickly set up the link, giving him a thumbs up as he finished his task.

"All units, this is Ferris Six. Be advised enemy strength now a hundred plus batarians supported with attack varren. Discontinue previous orders. I repeat, stand down from previous orders." He told them frantically. Both of the company CO's acknowledged immediately, which let Rodriguez exhale a sigh of relief. "New orders, Alpha Six when the barrage distracts them, I want you to hit them with a frontal assault. Bodark Six, flank them from both sides and their rear while Alpha keeps them occupied. Understood?"

"_Alpha Six, copies."_

"_Bodark Six, copies all." _

"Get to it, boys. The fireworks will start at approximately—" he checked on his chrono. "—two mikes. Ferris Six, out." He cut the connection instantly and asked the second comm operator—whose name was Irving—to open up a channel to the engineer platoons, which the man did almost instantly.

"Archer Six-Four," he contacted them. "Ferris Six here, you all set up?"

"_Affirmative, sir," _the officer in charge of the detail reported. _"We're just inputting coordinates for the targeting computer now." _There was a slight pause, then the man went on: _"There, we're ready now, sir. Say the word and we'll unleash hell."_

"Roger, standby." He told them straightaway. He looked at his watch as the timer on his chrono slowly counted down the remaining minutes till the barrage would open up. Minutes turned into seconds, and Rodriguez watched as his chrono said they had about thirty seconds left. Twenty. Ten. The battle was gonna start momentarily now, and he'd already laid out his plan of action, hoping to God it'll work. But, as they always said, no battle plan survives without first contact with the enemy. Five seconds left.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

"Archer Six-Four, deploy the Devastators!" he rapidly ordered over at the comm.

"_Roger that, Ferris Six, standby." _The voice paused, then the sounds of missiles screaming as they leaped from their launchers were heard audibly on the communicator, echoing inside the Mako. The voice returned again and said, _"Ferris Six, twelve missiles deployed, TOT ten seconds. Rerouting now towards RP Bravo, ETA at about thirty seconds. Will report back once we're set up and ready to provide additional fire support. Six-Four out."_

The sounds of multiple of explosions were heard reverberating outside the Mako's hull. More and more of them followed as the assault's preparatory bombardment enveloped the batarians staging area with hundreds of sub-munitions, each with the explosive yield of a powerful grenade. The men inside the armored vehicle just looked up, straining their ears to hear the sounds of battle raging heavily outside.

The holo-projectors suddenly burst forth with activity as the militia's companies and its multiple platoons engaged the enemy forces, trying desperately to overwhelm the batarian defenses. Reports were quickly flooding both of the comm operators' holo-projectors, stretching their abilities to the breaking point.

The sound of rapid gunfire was prevalent in the forward edge of the battle area, interlaced with explosions and screams of men as they were mercilessly cut down by hyper-accelerated slugs. Even though they were enclosed in the vehicle's hull, they still couldn't avoid the sounds. And they probably never will.

"Sir!" Irving called out to him loudly. "Alpha Six reports that one of its platoons is in danger of being overrun."

"Patch 'em through, now!" The comm operator immediately complied and set-up the required connections for Rodriguez to make contact with the battered platoon. Moments later, he was rewarded with the sound of someone panicking over on his comm.

"_I say again, Alpha Two is being hammered relentlessly by batarian infantry! We can't hold on much longer without support, over!"_

"Alpha Two, this is Ferris Six," Rodriguez calmly said to his comm. "I want you to call out targets for me to relay to the heavy guns. How copy, over?"

"_Solid copy, Ferris Six, standby for fire mission," _the man replied, his voice less frantic now that he knew support was coming. _"infantry, seventy-five meters north of our IFF tags, over."_

"Acknowledged, Alpha Two, standby," Rodriguez switched his comm frequencies and contacted the heavy guns. "Archer Six-Four, this is Ferris Six, standby for fire mission coordinates, over."

"_Ferris Six, standby, we're still setting up," _the major could hear the sounds of men grunting and cursing as they quickly set up the M143's in place on the other end of the line, loading the missiles into their launchers. The voice quickly returned. _"Ferris Six, Archer Six-Four, standing by for fire mission, over."_

"Roger, coordinates are as follows," Rodriguez opened up his omni-tool, which showed him the grid references for Alpha Two's position. "Grid square papa-bravo-four-two, seventy-five meters north of IFF tag. Acknowledge, over."

"_Affirmative, grid square papa-bravo-four-two, seventy-five north. Standby, shot over," _the screams of missiles flying in the air were heard again, then followed by: _"Two missiles, TOT five seconds." _Once more, a couple of rather loud explosions were heard when they made landfall towards its intended target, clearly noticeable as its roars were resonating across the battlefield. The comm line to Alpha Two lit up.

"_Ferris Six, good effect on target, most of them are gone and the rest are falling back, en route to pursue. Thanks for the assist, Alpha Two out." _And the line clicked off.

So far, they were making progress on their attack. Which was surprisingly fast enough. Maybe the batarians were really caught off-guard by the sudden attack, but then again, who knows. Somehow they've gotten lucky, and the major was gonna take all the luck he can get if he could manage it.

"Major!" Higgins cried out, his eyes still glued to the holo-projector right in front of him. "I got Bodark Six on the line. Patching you though." He further reported, connecting him towards Bravo Company.

"This is Ferris Six, send traffic over." Rodriguez said over the comm.

"_Ferris Six, Bodark Six here. We've managed to sneak up on their rear, not much resistance here, sir. Just a couple of stragglers from Alpha's lines but that's about it, no sign of 'em at all."_

_Where the hell are those bastards hiding?! _He thought to himself. There was supposed to be platoon there at Bravo's position, but they were nowhere to be found. Alpha Company managed to get about half of the enemy's force occupied and thoroughly annihilated, but the other half was missing. _Where the hell are they, damn it! _He checked his chrono. It had been about already fifteen minutes since their attack on the batarians had begun, and he got about half of them at this point. Something in the back of Rodriguez's mind told him he had a bad feeling that something really bad was going to happen. He just didn't know where and when…

"Sir!" the driver in front of them called out, panic clearly obvious in his voice. "I got a shitload of batarians on us, and they're firing rockets! Hold on!" The Mako swerved heavily to the right, with all its occupants being thrown about as the armored command vehicle tries urgently to avoid the inevitable impact. Which happened three later. Two missiles slammed on the vehicle's starboard side hull, kinetic barriers flashing to existence as it absorbs the impact, draining the vehicle's shields. The driver called out that more of the rockets were on its way, and there wasn't enough time for the shields to recharge and recover.

The driver swerved the vehicle to the left at the last second, three out of the four rockets missing completely as they passed overhead to just within eleven inches, but the last one found its mark, hitting the vehicle's port side hull. An ear-splitting explosion was heard, followed by a lot of smoke and noise as the metal groans terribly at the sudden stress it had received.

In his haste to quickly coordinate the militia's pre-emptive strike, Rodriguez forgot to put on his own armor, where he was still just wearing his standard fatigues as the lone missile struck decisively on the vehicle's metallic hull. Having been thrown around inside the tank like a ragdoll after the missile impact, his head hits something hard, and the world around him just went completely black.


	7. Victory or Death

**A/N:**

**Patient131071 - don't worry, they'll come much sooner than you think.**

**Celis - thanks for your review, and I appreciate you taking the time to read this fic. :)**

**subsider34 - hahaha, yeah, people tend to forget the most basic things when they have a lot of things in their mind.**

**CallsignReaper01 - well, you can rest easy friend, it concludes here.**

**FtDLulz - haha, I sure will, man.**

**"Guest" - life is predictable and unfair, you never know when you'll lose the ones you care about.**

** ianua cordis mei - Z - I appreciate your input bro, as well your astute observation. Yeah, I really I'm trying to make this as realistic as possible from the others fics. Once again, thanks for taking the time to read my story. :)**

* * *

**October 29****th**** 2183 C.E.**

**Ferris Fields outskirts**

His vision was blurry, and the sounds of battle raging outside were slightly muted as his ears struggle to regain most of his hearing. The back of his head hurt like hell, and he could feel something moist running ever so slowly there. As he started regaining most of his sight, he saw that he was lying down inside the Mako's floor, the cool metallic surface brushing on his face's left cheek. He brought both of his arms in front of him and stood slowly, trying not to tax himself. He felt a bit dizzy, which he assumed was caused by the massive ache he had on the back of his head. Up ahead, he could see Higgins and Irving—his comm operators—slumping on their respective holo-projectors, their eyes wide open and their body oozing blood from various wounds. Like him, they had neglected to wear their armor due to time constraints. A mistake they were paying now with their lives.

In front of the dead operators was a gaping hole, around two feet in diameter, that was forcefully pushed inwards by the missile's shape-charged warhead, the hole's edges were pointed within, which confirmed his conclusion. The holo-projectors were still bursting with continued activity, where platoons were conferring with their company commanders, and they in turn looking for their battalion CO, which was him. The comm lines were filled with men asking for advice and orders, which he heard all so clearly.

"_Ferris Six, this is Bodark Six, come in." _a voice boomed out on one of the holo-projectors. _"Come in, Ferris Six, we need orders."_

"_Bodark Six, this is Ferris Five," _another voice cut in. _"What the hell happened, over?" _Rodriguez listened in on their conversation. Ferris Five was the callsign of the battalion XO, which was Captain Adrian Walters. He and what was left of the battalion probably thought he was dead and assumed the worst, with Walters now continuing operations as the new CO, which was stated in the battalion's command structure. As the major went near the holo-projector to try and contact them, the conversation was still on-going.

"_The batarians tricked Alpha Company, sir. The other enemy platoon used tactical cloaks and passive sensor blockers to roll straight through their lines, completely bypassing Alpha One's position and stunning them, over."_

"_Damn it," _he heard Walters swore. _"What happened to Ferris Six?"_

"_Last I heard they were setting up shop behind Alpha One's position, lost contact after that."_

"_Roger that, okay Bodark Six, give me a complete sit-rep on the battle there, over."_

"_Copy, we're currently on our way to assist Alpha Company, last reports from them indicated that the batarians we're hammering them relentlessly with heavy missile fire. Also lost contact with them after that, sir."_

"_Do what you can for them, Bodark Six. I'll assemble a relief force to render assistance, how copy, over?"_

"_Solid copy, Ferris Five we're en route and—shit!" _Rodriguez heard Bravo Company CO cursing loudly on the line, followed by the staccato fire of various assault rifles and the occasional grenade going off. _"The batarians are landing in reinforcements, sir! I see three dropships disembarking a reinforced platoon with mechs and attack varren. Over!"_

"_Roger Bodark Six, can you hold that position, over?"_

"_We're spread real thin sir, but we'll give 'em hell! Six out." _With that, the line was disconnected. The holo-projector still wasn't working on transmitting, no matter how hard he tried to fix it. He tried the reconfiguring the other one but to no avail, both the projectors only receiving incoming transmissions and nothing else. Even his own omni-tool shorted out during the blast that disabled his Mako, rendering his communicator useless. Without a way to contact what's left of the militia, he was completely on his own. _Goddamn it! _

He heard a couple of voices moaning behind him, turning around, he could see what was left of the armed escort, coming around to consciousness after the missile impact. Slowly coming around, he could see and hear one of them was still grousing softly, sluggishly opening their eyelids. But the major didn't have time for this, he needed to act now while he still had a militia that needed leading, and that was exactly what he intended to do. Closing in on the gap between him and the nearest militiamen, he grabbed the young man by his armor's chest piece with one of his hands and started shaking him furiously. "Wake the hell up, buttercup!" he yelled rather loudly at the waking soldier and slapped him silly at both of the man's facial cheeks with his other free hand. "I said wake up!"

The man instantly sprang back to complete consciousness, getting up while putting a hand on one of his cheeks which was starting to redden. The other militiamen next to him also got back up, surprised by the sudden noise that was filling inside the Mako. The third man next to the other two was still drooping over in his seat, with his harness securing him in place. "You," Rodriguez pointed to the first man, "check your friend here if he's still alive. And you," he pointed to the other one. "see if the driver still has a pulse." Both of the men quickly obeyed his commands and went to their assigned tasks. A few moments later, both of them went back to the major.

"Kowalski's dead, sir." The first man said with a sad voice. _They must've been close. _He couldn't entirely reprimand him for being miserable, war was hell, most especially when it comes to your friends.

"Same goes with Felton over there, major." The second man told him as well, motioning at the driver's direction. _Four people dead. Damn those fucking batarians! _With just the three of them left, they needed to join up with whoever was left out there immediately. If they somehow managed to attract the attention of a wandering enemy unit, the last thing they'd be able to do is kiss their sweet ass goodbye. Grabbing hold of the dead's militiamen's Lancer assault rifle and his combat utility harness, he quickly put it on and checked the rifle's condition. A full standard ammo-block was in place and the red dot sight was perfectly calibrated. _Excellent! _Looking at the two men in front of him, both of them just gave him a confused, questioning look. _Probably pissed because I just raided their dead friend's equipment. _He thought to himself. But he didn't care, they needed to survive and get the hell out of here.

"Don't just stand there, get moving! Now!" The two militiamen leapt into action and grabbed their respective rifles. "Grab anything useful: spare ammo-blocks, grenades, ration packs, water, and everything that can be of use. Ditch the useless shit." Both replied in the affirmative and did as they were told. A few seconds later, they were all ready. The major approached the vehicle's rear hatch and accessed its controls. A quick beep was heard that signified it was ready to open. Pushing the button on the side, the hatch slowly opened, with the double-door swinging outward. "Alright, I'll go first. After that, you follow." He ordered the first soldier, which gave him a quick nod.

He cautiously went outside the armored vehicle's hull, the light outside quickly assaulted his vision. Putting a hand up, he leapt out of the disabled vehicle and took a quick look on his surroundings. The green and lively paradise of Ferris Fields was now stained with the signs of heavy fighting. The sound of gunfire was still clearly heard, followed by a couple of explosions and men from both sides shouting orders and screaming in pain. His nostrils could pick up the scent of burnt metal, explosive residue, and the distinct odor of human blood and another of which he thinks was from a batarian. A second man also followed him out of the vehicle, both of his feet impacting the ground with a soft crunch from the grass. "We need to get moving, link up with Alpha Company, over there." Rodriguez told the man next to him, with a finger pointing east, where he thought Alpha was located.

"Sounds good, sir," the first man told him. "we should get—" he didn't get to finish his sentence. A burst from a nearby assault rifle impacted on one of the Mako's rear doors. It was quickly joined by a few others as weapons fire peppered their precarious position.

"Get behind the Mako, now! Move!" The militiamen hastily obeyed the order, and the three of them took cover behind the disabled vehicle's hull, temporarily sheltering them. As more bursts from the enemy's rifles still continued pounding them, Rodriguez needed a plan to take them out quickly. If they alerted the others, they were completely and utterly fucked. He looked at his men. They were nervous, for that he was sure, and the second militiaman was actually trembling, his hands making it painfully obvious as the rifle he held wasn't steadying. "You!" he pointed to first soldier. "What's your name?"

"P-P-Private Elwood, s-s-ssir." He stammered with his reply. The major quickly faced the other one.

"And you?" he asked.

"Corporal Mendez, sir." The man tried replying casually, though his voice was obviously laced with fear, and his hands still shook. _Jesus, these kids are plain scared shitless. _He needed them to watch his back if they intended to make it out of this mess alive. And he needed the both of them right the hell now.

"Look, I know both of you are scared, alright?" he said to them calmly. "But I need both of you to focus on keeping each other's backs covered and the enemy taken care of. Okay?" Both of them gave him a solemn nod. "Alright, so here's the plan. Elwood, I want you on the other edge of the Mako, ready to provide covering fire. Mendez, you're with me on the next edge here, also ready to provide cover. When I give the order, fire on short-controlled bursts as to provide accurate suppression and prolong your weapons' heat sinks, and then I'll go forward 'til I'm close enough to lob a grenade. Understood?"

"Sir, yes sir!" Both of them answered sharply, the sense of renewed purpose on the edge of their voices.

"Good, get to it. I'm counting on ya." The militiamen both went to their position on the front and back edges of the Mako's hull, their backs leaning on the vehicle with their Lancers splayed on their chest, and their heads peering carefully over to take a quick peek on the enemy's position. Rodriguez was standing next to Mendez, who was making last-minute checks on his weapon. The enemy kept on firing for about a few seconds or so until he could hear the distinct beeping of their weapons as it stopped to vent their heat sinks.

"Now!" He yelled loudly and ran forward. Both soldiers exited their respective covers and laid down suppressive fire, filling the air around the batarians with hyper-accelerated slugs of steel. A few unlucky batarians who weren't taking cover were quickly taken down, alerting the rest who dove on the ground to shelter themselves from his men's onslaught.

The enemy was just about a few dozen yards away in a slightly elevated position, with a bunch of chest-high boulders that provided them with limited cover. As he made their way towards their position, the major ran near the enemy's position, sprinting in an irregular pattern, running straight for a few meters or so then cutting left, a few meters after that he then made a cut to the right, throwing the aim off of any of his would-be assailants. As he slowly got nearer and nearer, the batarians noticed his presence and began opening up on him. Millimeter-sized tungsten rounds began gushing dirt all around him as the rounds were scattering all over Rodriguez's position.

The enemy quickly stopped their fire on him, as Elwood and Mendez began firing on the enemy's position again after a brief moment to vent their weapons, their surprisingly accurate fire giving him all the time he needed to close in on the batarians and throw a grenade. After about a few seconds running, he stopped just about nine yards away from their boulders and went prone. Grabbing a single M97 High-Explosive grenade from his utility harness, he pressed the top-most button on the device and set it to arm for a three second fuse. Without further hesitation, he reared his hand back and threw the thing over at the batarians. It landed behind the boulder, and a quick flash of yellow and orange flame engulfed their position, their screams overtaken by the sound of the huge explosion that emanated from the grenade.

Not wasting his time, the major quickly stood up and charged the remaining distance separating him and the hostile aliens, smoke still stemming out of their cover. The militiamen's suppressing fire stopped for fear of hitting their CO. A few moments later, he arrived, climbing atop one of the boulders with his rifle aimed downwards. He could see about seven batarian soldiers lying down on the ground, their armor sprinkled liberally with fragments, and blood flowing freely from about a dozen different wounds. One of them was still alive, slowly unfolding his pistol and aiming it carelessly at Rodriguez's silhouette. The major didn't give the poor bastard a chance. He aimed his rifle on his target and fired two rounds on its head, a few centimeters above the left eye brow. The target went limp instantly, the pistol he was holding clattering sloppily on the ground.

With that over, Rodriguez turned around and quickly gestured for the two militiamen to get over his position. They both nodded and ran towards his position, arriving about ten seconds later and panting slightly from their brief sprint. "You guys alright?" he asked the both of them.

"Yes sir," Elwood replied for the both of them, the stammering he had earlier now completely gone. "that was some crazy stunt you pulled off, sir. Charging without a hard suit."

"I second that." Mendez joined in. All three them gave out a quick, light chuckle before returning to their serious demeanor.

"Check these guys out for a functioning omni-tool," the major ordered both of them. "I need to link up with the command freq and assess the situation." Elwood and Mendez quickly gave out a sharp nod and went to work, while Rodriguez stood guard over them for any incoming threats. The battle was still raging heavily, hearing the sounds of discharging rifles and distant explosions. They needed to get those batarians out of here, now. From what he read on them while he was still resting on the first few days he got here, they were seriously bad news: slavery, prostitution, and illicit drugs were all perfectly normal to them. And they'd practically kill anyone who gets in their way.

"Sir," Private Elwood stood up from the corpse the major had shot earlier and went straight to him, an omni-tool with its elastic wrist-band clearly gripped on his outstretched hand. Accepting it, the major quickly strapped it on and activated it, immersing his left arm once again with the holographic interface's orange glow. After finding the necessary program in it, he quickly set up his communicator's link up with the omni-tool, providing the necessary configurations to set it to the militia's command frequency. A few moments later, his screen displayed the following message: [**DIAGNOSTIC IN PROGRESS…] **_You've gotta be fucking kidding me! _Rodriguez gritted his teeth. The display told him to wait for just a few more seconds as his newly acquired omni-tool was syncing-up with his communicator. Impatiently counting off the seconds as time went by, a loud beep told him that the diagnostic was finally complete. _About damn time! _He quickly set up the settings again. After waiting for about a second or two, his ear was rewarded with the sound of various men reporting on the line.

"—_we're being pushed back, Alpha Company can't hold this position any longer. Ferris Five, requesting permission to withdraw. Over."_

"_Acknowledged Alpha Six," _the sound of Captain Walters was heard on the comm, his voice weary and drained. _"recommend you set up northeast of the colony's perimeter and link up with Crimson One-Three, over."_

"_Solid copy, Ferris Five. Heading there now, out."_

"_Bodark Six, what's your status?"_

"_The batarians are reinforcing their foothold on their primary staging area," _Bravo's commander said fervently on the line, the echoes of gunfire and screams clearly evident as the battle dragged on. _"They just dispatched another platoon here, attack varren are harassing both of our flanks, we're combat ineffective at this time, over."_

"_Damn it," _the battalion XO swore. _"alright Bodark, turn back now and rendezvous with Crimson Three-Two at Ferris Fields' northwestern approach, over."_

"_Roger that, Ferris Five, en route now. Out." _The batarians we're kicking their asses badly, and they were almost winning. That was completely unacceptable. If they won now, the lives of thirteen thousand men, woman, and child would be forced into slavery. And that was something that major wouldn't allow, even if it meant him dying for this to stop. Pressing the transmit button on the omni-tool, he quickly announced his presence.

"All units, this is Ferris Six. Give me a complete sit-rep on all unit dispositions, over." He said steadily over the command frequency. Various gasps and voices of disbelief were clearly heard, all of them surprised at his sudden reappearance. They quickly gathered their wits and reported in.

"_Alpha Six here, company strength down seventy percent, First Platoon completely combat ineffective, over."_

"_Bodark Six here, major. Company strength is just at eighty percent, over."_

"_Ferris Six, Crimson Six, company at full-strength, awaiting orders. Over."_

"_Archer Six-Four here, sir. Fire support munitions down to about nine Charlie-Golf-Mike One-Twos, and we're setting up turrets and drones to slow the enemy's advance, over."_

"_Buffalo Troop here, sir," _the happy, Southern twinge of Second Lieutenant Albert Johnson was heard. _"we're harassing forward batarian skirmishers, and are currently in a delaying action to give the boys at Alpha and Bravo enough time to withdraw, over."_

"Alright," the major said on the comm. "I need a ride, Buffalo, how fast can you get here?"

"_Based on your IFF tag's location, I'll be there in three mikes, major."_

"Make it fast, Buffalo. Out." Rodriguez quickly called up on his XO. "Crimson Five, what's the latest intel on troop movement and strength?"

"_It's not looking good, major," _Walters voice told him. _"Archer Six-Four sent out a recon drone to look for them after we lost contact with you. Based on the intel it collected, rough estimates put the batarian's strength at about four hundred plus men, supported by attack varren and about two dozen LOKI mechs, sir. They were setting up a secondary staging area a few klicks east of the other one we found. As of right now, they don't have armor support, but they do have numbers. They're closing in on the colony's northern outskirts at this time, ETA will be about ten minutes."_

"Jesus Christ," the major swore softly. "this isn't a simple slaver operation, it's an invading army."

"_My thoughts exactly sir, we'll hold them off for a little while till we can come up with a plan. I was hoping you'd have one right about now, major." _The three Makos that comprised Buffalo Troop were within sight now, barreling towards them at full speed.

"Don't worry, Ferris Five, I have it covered. Right now, I want you to delay their advance at any cost. I repeat, they **must not** reach the colony, captain. Understood?"

"_Lima Charlie, sir, we'll hold the line. Ferris Five out." _The Makos arrived a few seconds later, with the lead vehicle stopping just right next to Rodriguez and his team. The turret's top hatch opened, and Lieutenant Johnson stood proudly out of it, a helmet encasing his head in a protective shell, with a transparent visor shielding his eyes, which also gave him constant information about his tank; and finally, a smile firmly placed on his lips.

"Afternoon, sir!" Johnson said to him, giving out a playful salute. "Heard you boys needed a ride." Despite the seriousness of the situation, the young major couldn't help but laugh at the armored officer's casual greeting. He was grateful too. With all the stress he'd build up during the battle, he was finally relieved of most of it.

"As long as you're offering, lieutenant." Rodriguez happily answered him back. The rear hatch of Johnson's Mako opened up, and the major quickly went inside, followed by the two militiamen. As the armored vehicle rumbled to life and sped its way forward, the young man in charge of the battalion swiftly opened up his omni-tool and called up the engineer platoons.

"Archer Six-Four, this is Ferris Six, respond. Over."

"_This is Archer Six-Four, how can we assist?"_

"Send out another recon drone to make a quick pass at the batarian formation," the major said to the officer. "and relay it's video feed to my omni-tool."

"_Roger, solid copy on all, standby." _The voice paused for a few moments, then returned: _"Drone away, ETA to batarian formation ten seconds. Be advised this is our last recon drone. Feed will open up on your omni-tool momentarily. Six-Four, out." _

His omni-tool suddenly projected a small display, and on it, was the grainy video feed projected directly from the recently launched recon drone. As it passed its initial reference points towards its intended destination, it finally arrived a few seconds later. He could finally see the entirety of the enemy formation. They were plenty of them, all cluttered together in large groups headed towards Ferris Fields. All of them were just surging forward in one direction, not bothering to secure their flanks, their rear, or setting up any support systems to maximize their advance. The mechs they brought along were jogging just alongside their organic counterparts, all focused on one thing: killing humans. Whoever was in command of this force clearly wasn't thinking straight, or isn't qualified for this job at all. Either way, he now had a plan in motion. It was a long shot, but if it worked, they could break the back of this invasion fast.

In this case, literally.

"Lieutenant Johnson," he called out towards the armored cavalryman. "where's our next destination?"

"We're heading around to bypass the batarian's force and link up with Crimson Two-Two on the eastern perimeter of Ferris Fields. After that, we'll just go around the main defense line and assist any way we can." Johnson explained to him quickly.

"Belay that order, lieutenant." Rodriguez ordered casually. "Head towards the rear of the batarian formation and keep up with them."

"Are you out of your fuckin' mind, major?" The man looked at him, his face showing complete and utter disbelief. "That's fucking suicide!"

"That wasn't a request, lieutenant." The major told him sternly. "That was an order."

"Yes, sir. Heading there now." Johnson replied hesitantly, he ordered his driver to change course, then opened up his comm to contact the rest of his Troop. "Buffalo Troop, this is Six. Reroute to grid square charlie-foxtrot-two-eight. Stay on my ass, boys."

"_But that puts us just behind the batarians, sir!" _Rodriguez heard the lieutenant's subordinate cry out on the radio.

"I know, Buffalo One, I know!" Johnson bawled on the radio. "Reroute now, the major's got a plan."

"_Roger Buffalo Six, me and Two are right behind you. Out." _And with that, the line went dead. After speaking to his dependents, the lieutenant turned his chair around to face him. The cavalryman's eyes showing the distinct signs of fear and indifference. After some initial hesitation, he finally opened his mouth to speak.

"What's the plan, sir?"

"It's quite simple, really," the major told him nonchalantly for a moment, then turned serious. "but we only get one shot at this, and we better not fuck this up. We clear?" The lieutenant gave him sharp nod. "Good. Now, once we reach the batarians' rear, we creep up on them and breach their lines. Once we penetrate deep enough, I want you and the rest of your Makos to scatter and cause as much chaos and panic as you can, once that's done, I'll order what's left of Alpha and Bravo to ditch their defensive positions and charge right at them. Also, before you move forward though, your assault will be preceded by a Devastator strike from Six-Four. Understood?"

"Sounds fuckin' crazy sir," Johnson told him casually. "but, if it works, we're home free."

"Yep, now make the call to the rest of Buffalo, lieutenant."

"Copy that," the man said simply, opening up his comm once more to speak with the rest of his unit about the major's plan. As he was doing that, Rodriguez opened up his omni-tool and set it up so Ferris Five and Archer Six-Four could hear him.

"Ferris Five, Archer Six-Four, this is Ferris Six, prepare for flash transmission, over."

"_Roger, we read you, sir." _Ferris Five instantly replied.

"_Send traffic, over." _Was all Archer Six-Four could say.

"I'll make this quick, so listen up," he told them straightaway. "Six-Four, prepare to open up a barrage towards grid square—" he checked his omni-tool. "—charlie-foxtrot-two-eight. Be advised, this is a danger-close fire mission, so watch our IFF tags before you plot the coordinates, fire only on my explicit command. Ferris Five, on my order, make preparations to abandon Alpha and Bravo's entrenchments and prep them for a full-scale frontal assault on the batarians' position. Understood?"

"_Ferris Five, copies."_

"_Archer Six-Four copies all."_

"Get to it, then. God helps us all, Ferris Six out." Rodriguez put the communicator on standby and went near Johnson's navigation station. "How long 'til we make visual contact?"

"Right about…now." The lieutenant's display quickly switched from navigation to the gunner's sights. On it, he could clearly see the enemy's rear as the M35 carefully sneaks up behind them.

"One thousand yards and closing, sir." The gunner aboard the Mako informed them. This was it, in just a few short minutes, the fate of the entire colony would rest on this gamble. He didn't even want to know what would happen if this gambit of his failed. The lives of thirteen thousand people depended on him, and he wasn't about to let them down just because he fucked it up.

"Five hundred yards!" the gunner told them once more. _That's close enough. _He thought to himself. Reactiving his omni-tool, he quickly contacted the big guns.

"Archer Six-Four, deploy munitions!" he screamed on his comm.

"_Roger that, six missilse on the way, shot over," _the screams of missiles launching were heard once again on his ear piece. _"Ferris Six, TOT five seconds. Bunker down guys, fire mission is danger close. Good luck, out."_

Outside, the missile's deployed sub-munitions made impact, where hundreds of the little egg-sized bombs soaked the batarian's formation with deadly fire. Hundreds of explosions were heard as all of them went off at the same time, with most of the shockwave completely washing over the Mako's metallic hull, shaking it with minimal force. _This is it…_

"Johnson, gun it!" Rodriguez shouted at the lieutenant. The officer nodded at him and quickly shouted at the driver to bring the vehicle at full speed. The Mako suddenly lurched with acceleration as the driver slammed his foot on the throttle. In the turret, the gunner was quickly scanning targets of opportunity, passing them down all the info to Lieutenant Johnson for selection and target acquisition.

The M35 Mako armored assault vehicle had a crew of three: the driver, the gunner, and the commander/navigator. While the driver made sure that they made it out of the battlefield in one piece, the gunner and commander were working in tandem to get through to their targets. While the commander selects targets via his screen (which also connected him to the gunner's sights) he highlights targets of interest and relays them to his gunner, where he could do the rest. And that was what major was seeing right in front of him.

"Gunner!" Johnson yelled at his seat, his eyes glued to the screen in front of him. "Batarian infantry squad with a missile launcher! Three o'clock, thirty yards and closing!"

"Identified!" the gunner shouted in return, training the turret left towards the selected target.

"Fire!" the lieutenant ordered.

"On the way," the gunner pressed the firing button on his turret's joystick, and was rewarded with a loud _boom!_ as the tank's one-fifty-five millimeter mass accelerator cannon went off, it's sound reverberating inside the hull. "Hit."

"New target," the lieutenant said once again. "advancing mechs, range forty-five yards, eleven o'clock."

"Identified, switching to HE block." The tank's gunner casually responded. Pressing a couple of buttons and swinging the turret once more to its next target.

"Fire!"

"On the way," another loud boom was heard, followed by a distant explosion a few seconds later as the cannon's golfball-sized high-explosive round found it's mark. "Direct hit, el-tee."

"Shit!" the lieutenant swore loudly, tapping his fingers away on the screen right in front of him. The major decided to take a peek. On it, a group of batarian soldiers were turning around from their advance and were quickly training their ML-77 missile launchers right in front of them. "Gunner! Anti-tank teams, sixty yards at your two o'clock, fire at will!"

"Roger," the gunner went to work, putting out round after round until the group endangering the tank troop was quickly decimated. They were making good progress, and now was the time for this armored thrust to expand.

"Lieutenant," he told the officer next to him. "do it."

"Copy that," Johnson turned on his comm to speak with his unit once again. "Buffalo Troop, this is Six. Scatter boys and give 'em hell!"

"_Roger, turning now." _The two other Makos flanking the lieutenant's vehicle quickly broke left and right, spreading their armored spearhead and hoping to break the enemy's back with enough confusion and panic to disorganize their advance.

All the major could do at this time was wait, this whole plan now completely depending on the actions of Buffalo Troop's three armored vehicles. _If we fail…no, I shouldn't think that._ He furiously chastised himself for being pessimistic. His job didn't allow for negative views. Having second thoughts now would cost the militia heavy losses, losses on which he cannot hope to accept. _Come on, Buffalo. Don't fail us now…_

Rodriguez wasn't a really a religious man. But now, he was hoping that God would grant them this victory, even if it was just this once. For the first time in a really, really long time, the major made the sign of the cross, clasped both of his hands, closed his eyes, and mentally started reciting the Lord's Prayer.

_Our Father, who art in heaven…_The sounds of Johnson calling out targets and the gunner responding to them were heard…_hollow be your name, your kingdom come…_A single missile struck towards the Mako's hull, it's shields barely holding, and swaying the vehicle immensely from the explosive blast, but the major didn't bother…_your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven…_The gunner was cursing now, the main cannon was venting it's heat sink at a rather bad time, so he switched to the coaxial gun, opening up with a canvas-rip, fully-automatic barrage at a bunch of unfortunate targets. Again, the major didn't mind…_give us this day, our daily bread, as we forgive those who sins against us…_

The young man didn't have the pleasure of continuing his prayer. It felt like a few hours had already passed. Right next to him, Lieutenant Albert Johnson just let out a loud, bellowing laugh which lasted for a short while. Once he was done, he quickly faced the major, grabbed both of his shoulders, and shook him constantly. "We fuckin' did it, sir!" he ecstatically exclaimed. "They're stopping their advance!" Rodriguez quickly absorbed the newfound revelation and opened up a comm line to his XO.

"Ferris Five, attack, now!"

"_Solid copy on that, sir! Come on boys, let's give 'em hell!" _The high-spirited battle cries of about two companies worth of militiamen was heard on the entire command freq. By now, the batarian's offensive was finally stopped, and they had won this day. But, as much as Rodriguez hated to admit it, he couldn't take credit for himself on this victory. He had to share it with an almighty, omnipotent being named God, who was watching his sorry ass and granted his feeble wish earlier. Right at this moment though, he didn't care. The colony was saved. Every single man, woman and child was spared from a life of slavery. And he had God to thank for that.

"Johnson," he asked the armored cavalryman. "what's going on outside?"

"Alpha and Bravo are pursuing the batarians with extreme prejudice. Right now," the lieutenant cheerily explained. "they're already driving those four-eyed freaks away from the outskirts about a few dozen klicks off. Should be clear outside."

"Right, open the rear hatches." Rodriguez ordered softly. The lieutenant quickly acknowledged his command and pressed a button that opened the rear compartment. The twin doors slowly opened outward, as Rodriguez slowly made his way to exit the vehicle, he was assaulted again with the same stench he had sniffed earlier. Only this time, it was more repulsive.

Exiting the Mako, he surveyed the surroundings all around him. Dozens and dozens of bodies from both sides were liberally littering the battlefield, where some of them were charred to ash from the artillery or were immolated from the grenades. The green grass all over the place tainted with hundreds of dark, burnt scorches from all the grenades and Devastator sub-munitions he had deployed earlier. This wasn't paradise anymore. It was a glorified killing ground. As he walked on a slow pace, Rodriguez hastily had his thoughts think about the high casualties this battle had for the militia. Most of them were kids were God sakes, barely reaching their twenties. After all this fiasco, he was sure that he had to go back to the militia command post, drafting a shitload of letters to a lot of grieving parents and sweethearts. This was the worst part about being in charge: Taking full responsibility for the deaths of those underneath your command with your decisions.

He was suddenly brought out of his reverie with a moan from somewhere nearby. Looking around the corpse-ridden battlefield for about a few minutes or so, he quickly found it's source: a heavily wounded batarian, lying on the ground with a hand clutching a fatal wound on its abdomen, which was bleeding heavily. Based on what he saw, Rodriguez knew this guy was a goner, but now that he thought about it, he never really had the chance to talk to an extraterrestrial being before. Seizing the opportunity, he went closer to the four-eyed alien, cautiously eyeing him up if he had any weapons on him. Seeing there was none, he continued his approach. The batarian lazily raised its head up, sighted the lone human walking near him, and let out a low, rumbling chuckle.

"Human," he said to the young man, disgust completely apparent in his voice. "come to finish me off?" Rodriguez just stayed silent, gazing at the alien as he let out a couple of wet coughs, each spurting out small amounts of blood into his mouth. Without further thought, the major grabbed a couple of medi-gel capsules on his utility harness and applied it on the critically injured alien's grievous wounds. The batarian's four eyes widened in surprise, the anesthetic quickly taking in effect as the young man watched the alien becoming less tense.

"Why…why…are you doing this?" the batarian asked him, all of his four eyes facing him as Rodriguez crouched down near the wounded alien.

"I don't know, to be honest," the major truthfully replied. "I just wanted to help you out, that's all."

"But…why?" the alien asked him again, the confusion on his face clearly visible. "You barely even know me, human." Rodriguez just let out a soft chuckle, finding amusement at this hostile alien's reaction to random acts of kindness.

"We're not really that bad once you get to know us," the young man happily replied. "By the way, I didn't catch your name."

"I…suppose…you've earned it." The batarian spoke softly. The wound he had was slowly draining the life out of him. _He doesn't have much time left. _"I am Sergeant Malik…soldier…of the…Batarian…Hegemony."

"Pleased to meet you, Sergeant Malik." The young major courteously replied. "I'm Major Henry Rodriguez, commander of the Ferris Fields Colonial Militia."

The look on the batarian's face when he found out that the young man was responsible for their defeat was priceless. But in the end, the alien didn't feel insulted at that thought, he just laughed. "Outsmarted…by a young human…the galaxy…really is…going mad." With that the four-eyed extraterrestrial just laughed a bit more, and Rodriguez just laughed along with him. It really was a funny thought, after all. But then, the alien started coughing again, this one even more severe than before. Each cough made his entire body spasm with pain. Not knowing what else to do, the major just applied more medi-gel to ease his newfound friend's pain.

"Malik, how you holding up?" Rodriguez asked him, surprised at his own concern for the enemy's well-being.

"I'm afraid…it is time…for me….to join my ancestors, major." He told the young man softly, this time his voice wasn't laced with any type of malice, but more of gratitude. After coughing for what seemed to be the last time, he faced him and said, "I thank you…for your kindness, Henry…see you…in another life." And with that, the batarian exhaled one last time, his head slowly dropping to the ground as the last few moments of his life were quickly extinguished. With his four-eyes still wide open, Rodriguez outstretched his hand and respectfully lowered the eyelids of all of them.

"Rest in peace, Sergeant Malik." He said softly to the now expired body.

War is hell.

* * *

As the rest of the battalion finished up their pursuit of the invasion force, they slowly made their way back towards the colony's northern entrance. Arriving there, they were greeted by a large crowd of Ferris Fields' grateful colonists, who cheered and applauded the soldiers of the militia as they walked past them. But, not a single soldier of the militia was in a partying mood. People were killed, but more importantly, their friends were taken down by a race of hostile aliens hell-bent on making them slaves.

But the civilian colonists didn't notice their foul mood, and just kept on cheering as the soldiers of the colonial militia unhurriedly made their way to their respective barracks and homes to take a well-deserves rest and forget this whole day ever happened. Major Henry Rodriguez was one of them. As he arrived at his office, he takes a not-so-relaxed seat on his desk and powers up his computer terminal. _If I'm gonna start writing on those condolence letters, might as well start now. _He thought to himself. Accessing the militia databases, he quickly called up on the casualty list from the battle earlier and saw the figures.

_Fifty-nine dead, ninety-four wounded. _Just as he'd expected, heavy casualties indeed. Right as he was about to start typing one of the first of many letters, the door to his office opens, and right in front of him was the familiar face of Patrick Knowles and…_Therese?_

"Hey, Pat." Rodriguez just greeted weakly, not really in the mood for all the pleasantries.

"How you doing, son?" he asked the young man, his concern painfully obvious.

"I'll live." Was all the major could answer. His hands were on the terminal's keys, but it wasn't bursting with movement. It just lied still there, not typing away on the letters he was planning on making. In front of him, the monitor was still painfully blank. He was so focused on his intent on making all these letters he hadn't had a single clue on where to start. _Goddamn it._

Next to Knowles, Therese just stared at him, her eyes widening with pure worry and unease. _I must look like hell. _With the numerous cuts on bruises on his voice, combined with the aching wound he had on the back of his head, Rodriguez imagined that he really _did_ look like hell. An uncomfortable silence was creeping around them, not one of them knowing just what to say.

Suddenly, Therese just walked ever so slowly towards him, with her pale blue eyes still locking on towards his facial features. As she finally stood beside Rodriguez, she raised her left hand and placed it on one of his face's cheeks, the soft skin just brushing off on his rough features. The major just closed his eyes, brought his left hand up, and placed it on top of her hand touching his face.

Even though no words were exchange, the simple contact conveyed more than enough emotion that a few words ever could.

War really _**was**_ hell.

* * *

**Don't forget to review and tell me what you think.**

**-Rookie571**


	8. Remembrance

**A/N:**

**LogicalPremise's work titled: "Documentation : A guide to the Systems Alliance Order of Battle" - you guys should read this, damn fine work if you ask me.**

**ianua cordis mei - Z - That's what i'm trying to get across dude, people seem to think war can be all fun and games, when if fact, people die and they experience unimaginable horror from all the things they faced. Though I'm still crappy at this whole writing thing, I want to capture that realism and try to make it as authentic as possible. Again man, thanks for the review. Much appreciated.**

**corumb - thanks man, more coming up. :)**

**Behold the final chapter set in this year. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

**November 7****th**** 2183 C.E.**

**Ferris Fields**

_...regret to inform you of Staff Sergeant Ivanoff Litovski's recent passing during the defense of Ferris Fields. He died honorably in the field of battle, making sure that his squad would get out safely when the enemy…_

Major Henry Rodriguez continued typing away on his terminal for about five minutes, finally finishing his last condolence letter to Staff Sergeant Litovski's wife. A few days after the battle now and he'd written about sixty-five condolence letters to each of the casualty's parents, siblings, loves ones, and all significant others that were close to the deceased. It wasn't an easy task, it never was. But it had to be done, he owed them at least that much. Ferris Fields was saved, but at such tremendous cost.

And Litovski's loss was gonna be hard on the entire militia. Everybody liked him. He was nice, courteous, and was undeniably funny. Guy had a shitload of jokes that could relate to any situation, and he witnessed it firsthand. The first time Rodriguez saw the guy was during his brief first visit at the militia HQ, where he was just drinking his ass off with three others, with spent aluminum beer cans everywhere. The sight disgusted the young major at first, seeing this wannabe soldier just dusting off regulations and consuming a _**lot **_of beer. He decided to fix that on his second visit.

Wearing his new uniform proudly, the young man quickly screamed at them to stand at attention, threatening anyone who was still lollygagging with push-ups and runs around the colony perimeter. Everybody who was there quickly stood up at once, discontinuing whatever the hell it was they were doing, even Litvoski. He stood at attention, hands at his side, and his back _seemingly_ ramrod straight with his eyes looking up ahead. The sudden movement quickly intoxicated the thirty-year old Russian and he collapsed five seconds later, face first. All of the grunts present tried very hard to suppress their grins and their barely hidden chuckles, not daring to piss off their new CO any further. That lasted about four seconds, where everyone who saw the poor drunk's flop howled with amused laughter, which didn't last long when he screamed at them again for laughing. Because of the incident, the poor staff sergeant had to endure the militia's wrath with their jokes about his little fall. But the man just took it casually and good-naturedly.

_And now he's dead. _The major morbidly remembered. Litovski's scheduled perimeter patrol was the one that discovered the batarian's massive buildup that led to the militia's quick mobilization. And for that, the entire colony was grateful. As the sergeant continued to report back troop movement's to any nearby friendly units, they were spotted by an advancing enemy platoon and were pinned down. According to what was left of Bodark 2-3, Litovski ordered them to fall back and regroup with Bravo Company, while the sergeant and a single volunteer stayed behind to draw the enemy's fire. Seven men out of the nine-man squad manage to link up with one of Bravo's platoons and continued their fight against the batarians, though Ivanoff and Private Ethan Wesker weren't so lucky.

Both of them, along with the rest of the militia's casualties, were buried two klicks east of the colony; where a memorial was built to commemorate their sacrifice. It wasn't really that extravagant or anything, just a single three-meter long, slab of excess titanium with all of the names of the lost scribbled down with long-lasting paint. If they had more resources, they could've done much more, but the major felt this was more appropriate. They weren't famous leaders or individuals, just a bunch of regular guys who volunteered to take up arms and defend the colony. And this simple memorial was deemed suitable enough to honor simple, courageous men.

More than a week has already passed after that dreadful battle, and he still felt this uneasy feeling at the back of his mind that reminded him he should've done more for the guys at the militia, and more certainly for the sixty-five guys now lying six feet beneath the surface. He never felt this huge amount of guilt before, and it was eating him up terribly. Knowles, the colony, even what was left of the militia told him he had done a good job at repelling the alien invaders, that what he had done saved a lot of lives. _But why the hell do I still feel guilty?_

In a war, casualties were deemed acceptable, that much was for certain. The young man just wished somebody could've told him how to deal with this insane amount of remorse. Leaning back on his chair, the major pressed "enter" on his terminal and sent the final condolence letter addressed to one Rebecca Litovski, explaining how her faithful husband of four years would never be coming home. All the more making Rodriguez feel dreadful for not having prevented such deaths.

_Would you feel better if someone other than Litvoski died out there?_ His mind asked him.

_Shut up. _He told it back.

Opening up another file on his terminal, Rodriguez continued on making sure that everything was running smoothly again. Right now, he was assessing on the militia's weaponry and equipment. A new batch of Hahne-Kedar hard suits was arriving today, approximately sixty units worth of complete armor sets, accompanied by an equal number of Securitel helmets manufactured by Kassa Fabrication and new munitions for the M143 Devastators. He could've just stripped the dead of their armor and equipment, but that would've made him even guiltier than he already is, so he decided to just let them keep them and be buried wearing it. Their rifles and other offensive armaments were kept for obvious reasons; he told himself the militia needed it. New weapons were also procured by the battalion quartermaster, purchasing sets of M92 Mantis sniper rifles and M23 Katana shotguns. After what had happened with the batarians, Knowles released more funds for the militia to acquire more weapons and gear. They had also salvaged what was left of the batarian's heavy weaponry, acquiring about thirty of them. They lacked ammunition for it though, and the major asked Specialist Sutherland to requisition for more rockets. To which he said would take a while though, as ML-77's were hard to come by nowadays.

As for other equipment, the vehicles were also hit hard. With the Command Mako gone, and another M35 knocked out of commission, half of their armored assets were unavailable for the mean time. Though it could be fixed, the time not having those armored wonders were also a time they were at their most vulnerable, and he couldn't allow it. The mechanics at the garage told him they needed almost a few weeks, at the _**least **_to make full repairs, to which he begrudgingly agreed. They told him a completely fixed Mako was better than a _partially _fixed one.

Meanwhile, during the battalion's pursuit of the invaders, they managed to capture a bunch of prisoners who was left behind by the batarians during their escape; four of them, to be exact. They were rigorously interrogated by some of the senior NCOs for any information they possessed. And it took about less than an hour. The captive four-eyed aliens were scared shitless, and they quickly broke down and told them everything there is to know about how many of them were there and what reasons they had for coming here.

They told the interrogators that they were part of a force numbering five hundred men—batarians, to be specific—that was given permission (more like their blessings, really) from the Batarian Hegemony to launch an attack here and enslave its supposedly helpless population. Their intel stated that the militia here was, in their exact words, "incompetent, bored and cowardly". What they didn't expect though was a fully-armed and capable force, outnumbered and outgunned, repelling their invasion. They also said that they needed a win, that after their defeats at Elysium and Torfan, they wanted to regain their honor and prestige by defeating a colony that was _outside _the Alliance's jurisdiction. _Well, look at how that ended up for them. _

Now that their purpose was done, the question nagging him now was on how to deal with them. Most—if not already all—of the colonists here in Ferris Fields wanted them to be executed, to show the rest of the batarians that they weren't just another helpless colony that can be easily taken; while there was also some who wanted to exile them in the planet's wilderness and let them die slow, lingering deaths. Knowles just told him it was completely up to the major on what to decide on the matter. _Should I let them be executed? Or I just maroon them which will all result in their eventual deaths anyway? _Either way, both decisions resulted in all the prisoners dying. Torn between what to decide, he quickly called for his XO to be summoned on his office.

A few minutes later, the door opened, and coming in was Captain Adrian Walters, wearing his near-spotless uniform and his spotless combat boots. He stood at complete attention, with his hands behind his back and his feet a foot apart. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Yeah, I do. Take a seat, captain." The battalion XO quickly did so, hands on his lap with his back leaning on the chair, ramrod straight. "I was wondering on what your opinion is, regarding the prisoners' fate."

"Sir?" the captain asked him, surprise etched on his features.

"I'm asking on what you think we should do with them, captain." Rodriguez rephrased the question to him. Walters just sat there for a few seconds or so before letting out a soft chuckle.

"You don't want to know what I think, sir." He just stated plainly.

"Then enlighten me, captain." The major insisted, "Don't let me make it an order."

"Well, a part of me thinks they deserve what's coming for them. I mean, they did kill sixty-five good men just trying to defend their homes and their families." _He's right, he's right on all accounts—_"But," the captain continued on with his opinion. "another part of me thinks that we should just send them to an Alliance prison, where they can be brought to justice for attacking _and_ trying to enslave a human colony."

"I thought the Alliance didn't have jurisdiction here?" The major asked his subordinate. _Why the hell didn't I think of that before?_

"True," Walters asserted to him. "but it's no secret that the Alliance sends undercover N7 units around these parts to shut down piracy operations." Rodriguez just gives him a confused, questioning look.

"N7?"

"Elite Alliance military special forces, surely you heard of them?" Walters told him further. "John Shepard's, like, their most famous operative." Again, the major's look remained the same.

"Who the hell's John Shepard?" Now it was the captain's turn to give him a surprised look.

"He's like humanity's biggest hero. He's the reason why Elysium and the Citadel are still standing, and you haven't heard of him?"

"Nope," Rodriguez answered honestly. "can't say that I have. Where is he now, anyways?"

"He got killed a few months back by 'unknown' forces. At least that's what the Council said."

"Huh, sucks to be him." The major just said simply, then moved back to the topic at hand. "Anyways, how soon can you contact that Alliance N7-things and have them pick up our new friends?" Walters just gave him a look of amused disbelief and shook his head, still not believing his commander hadn't heard of the famous human hero.

"Usually they pass through this system every six solar days or so. I guess they'll be here about three days from now. I'll let Overwatch contact them once they're within range."

"Make it so, then, captain." He ordered his XO. Walters gave him a nod then stood up from his chair and went for the door. "And captain?" The young executive officer looked back at him, hand already over at the haptic interface. "Thanks."

"My pleasure, sir." Walters gave his CO a smile then left.

After his XO's departure, he quickly went back through his terminal and opened up the extranet browser, typing in John Shepard's name. A few moments later, he was rewarded with about dozens of news articles concerning the man in question. He opened up an Alliance News Network article and read a brief history about the man's accomplishments. _Defended the human colony of Elysium against overwhelming odds? Became the first human Spectre? Hero of the Citadel? _Rodriguez just kept on reading. The guy's done a lot of things to help people, and not just for the Alliance, based on what he read. _What the hell's a Spectre? _Typing in on the search bar again, he was shown the definition a few moments later: _Stands for Special Tactics and Reconnaissance, right arm of the Galactic Council that is above the law, with its agents enforcing the will of the Council by any means necessary. _

After reading for about a few minutes, he powered down his terminal and leaned back again on his chair, the soft, black leather chair giving him much needed comfort. From now on, he decided to get updated on all current events at all times. His little slip-up today earlier had almost compromised him. He wasn't planning on letting it happen again. But for now, he needed to unwind a bit, relax. As much as he tried though, he couldn't bring himself to do it. His mind still wandered towards last week's battle, the casualties, his responsibility to have avoided getting a lot of it, and failing. Because of it, he'd been having a lot nightmares as of late; the faces of the men he'd trained with, the ones who had died completely haunting his consciousness, bringing with them sheer guilt and remorse. Every time he tried to sleep, he'd wake up in the middle of the night drenched in cold sweat, giving out a silent scream whenever he bolted upwards from springing into consciousness. He was thankful though that, for now, Therese hadn't woken up whenever he had his bad dreams, or had noticed his restlessness. _Should I talk to her, though? _He asked himself in his thoughts.

_No. _Another part of his mind told him. _She's still struggling with the fact that she had to treat dozens of badly wounded men; you adding up another problem is not going to help her, at all. _Rodriguez completely forgot about that part. As one of the colony's leading physicians, Therese Watkins had to tend to a lot of the militia's critically injured during the batarian attack, and whenever she went home after, she was tired both physically and mentally from having seen so many terrifying wounds, and the men that were the owners of it screaming and struggling from the immense pain because of it. No, he definitely wasn't planning on telling her any time soon. He'd just tough this thing out, probably just post-traumatic stress disorder, making him this jumpy and restless. Yeah, that's about it.

* * *

_The artillery rounds were falling all around him, each of the huge rounds tearing out everything in its path. Men were dying, where there was this one soldier whose legs were gone, having been detached by the artillery round's explosive blast. Blood was liberally pouring out of the wounds, from the stumps where the legs used to be. The color on the man's face was draining, the massive blood loss sucking the life out of him. And the major just stood there, not doing anything to help the poor bastard dying right in front of him. A loud roar was heard behind him, turning around, he could see the batarians gunning their way forward, and they weren't alone. Mixed with them were a group of humans, wielding these weird yet somewhat familiar-looking, black colored rifles and wearing camouflaged armor with a helmet that made him awfully aware._

_But then he saw their eyes. Even though they were opening up wildly, the eyes still looked as if they were still squinting. And that's when he realized it: the group of human soldiers where men from the People's Liberation Army Ground Force. But like the batarians, the Chinese weren't heading right towards him—but to the injured men that were lying around everywhere, screaming their lungs out as the pain they had to endure was simply unbearable. The hard suits and the uniforms of the—no, it can't be? He was seeing soldiers from his old unit. There was no mistaking it. The unit patches, the tri-colored camouflage the Philippine Army favored...and his friends lying down in agony besides the men of the Ferris Fields Colonial Militia._

_The batarians and the Chinese still kept on their advance, growing nearer and nearer by the second. He willed his body to move, trying desperately to move in and save them. And yet, he still stood there, still watching the almost inevitable massacre that was sure to follow._

"_Get outta there, goddamn it!" he tried to shout the words out, but his mouth refused to open, not uttering a single word out. He was helpless. A few moments later, the combine group of batarians and Chinese soldiers were upon them like wolves. Shooting at them indiscriminately and raking them with lead and hyper-accelerated slugs. The Chinese had bayonets attached to their QZB-95 bullpup rifles, and we're thrusting them without mercy to his injured and dying brothers of Bravo Company._

_What the batarians were doing was even worse. A few men from what was left of the militia begged for them to show mercy, but still they didn't relent from their horrible onslaught. They were captured with nets and were clubbed to death with rifles and spiked gauntlets, their screams cutting through the air like a hot knife through butter. And here he was witnessing all of it. _

_A single soldier crawled out of the ensuing bloodbath, desperately trying to get out of it. Both his legs were gone, and blood was seeping out of the corners of his mouth. And he instantly recognized the bloodied man, it was Litovski! The legless man saw him and tried making his way towards him, ever so slowly. Putting his arm in front of the other, pain evident by the way he gritted his teeth and his eyes cringing with every effort he made. He was getting nearer now, just a few feet away._

"_Come on! You can make it!" his mouth finally opened, he outstretched one of his arms, offering his hand to Litovski as he sluggishly makes his way towards him. Despite the pain the man was experience, he let out a small smile, his eyes glistening with the prospects of hope, and putting up his hand in front of him, waiting for the young man to grab it._

_He didn't have a slight chance in hell. A batarian saw what the helpless man was doing and slowly made his way towards Litovski, unsheathing a knife that was strapped to his left thigh. His eyes widened, and he tried to make his legs move to get to where the injured man was. Again, he couldn't move it, but his arms could, and right now he was stretching it out, willing for the sergeant to reach for it._

_Ivanoff's smile grew even more, he was just a few more inches away, his hand getting nearer and nearer towards touching his own. All the pain the man must've endured momentarily gone, as help was just an arm's reach away. The young man just looked into his eyes, his arm was so close._

_Almost…there…_

_Suddenly, the sergeant's body gave out a shudder, and Litovski grunted with pain, his eyes widening, and the smile in his face he saw earlier was now completely gone. The young man looked up—and saw the batarian had his knife embedded deeply on the sergeant's back._

_He looked back at Litovski, the man still had his arm outstretched, just mere inches away from his own. The sergeant's eyes looked up on his, begging for him to get him out of here to some place safe. More blood came dripping out of his mouth, his stretched out arm lowering ever so slowly._

_And the batarian didn't just stop there. He pulled the knife out of Litovski's back, grabbed him by the hair, making him kneel up, and positioned the knife across his neck, ready to slit his throat to let him bleed out—_

"_Nooo!"_

* * *

Rodriguez instantly rose up with a gasp, cold sweat quickly pouring down on his face as he started breathing heavily. He was sitting upright in his bed, his hands clutching the blanket he had on tightly and his heart rate still beating out faster than it should have. _Damn it, that's the fifth one this week. _The nightmares were getting much worse. His previous dreams just showed him the faces of all the men they lost, all staring at him accusingly for not having saved them. But this new nightmare he just had, it showed him the rest of the guys from Bravo, Staff Sergeant Litovski, and was definitely more visceral than the last ones. He lowered his head and had his right hand massage the bridge of his nose. With all this shit going around, he just hoped he didn't wake up—

"Hey, you okay?" a voice asked next to him. Looking up and turning his head left, he saw Therese slowly getting up, her pale blue eyes looking at his with obvious worry and concern.

"I'm fine," he told her instantly without thinking. "it's nothing." She looked unconvinced, her worried stance still in place.

"No, you're not." She told him back, her tone more serious and cold. He's never heard that kind of seriousness from her. But, before he can dwell on it, she returned to her usual warm and welcoming self. "You've been having these dreams for days now, Henry, and it's clearly bothering you." _Shit she already knew?! Damn it!_ He tried explaining to her, but the words were too difficult to let out.

"I—I—I'm sorry." He sputtered, his resolve now gone and his guilt coming back in full force.

"What's troubling you, Henry?" she asked him, her eyes still on him. _There's no hiding it now…_With a deep breath, he gave out a slightly loud sigh and his head slowly starting to look down.

"I keep seeing their faces," he spoke softly, almost like a whisper. "I…I should've done more." He could still feel Therese's gaze looking at him, but right now he refused to look at her, his shame quickly partnering next to his guilt.

"Henry, you did all that you could for them," Therese said to her with equal gentleness, putting a hand on his shoulder. "if you hadn't did what you had to, Ferris Fields wouldn't have been saved."

"Don't you think I know that?" Rodriguez snapped at her, his eyes pointing daggers towards her. But yet her she was, completely unfazed by his sudden outburst. Realizing his mistake, the young man quickly tried to patch things up. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"It's okay, Henry." The doctor just told him sympathetically, wrapping her arms around him as she slowly brought his head towards her shoulder. Rodriguez didn't resist at the least, tears slowly building up in his eyes as his guilt came crashing down, unable to hold it in anymore; his body shuddered with quiet sobs, with more tears freely flowing down on his cheeks.

For the past hour and a half, it just went on like this. The major closing his eyes, his head still leaning on Therese's shoulder, the young woman ushering in a few words close to his ear, whispering to him that everything was going to be alright, and he wasn't going to go through all of this alone.

That did the trick, because the last thing Rodriguez knew was that he was asleep in an instant.

* * *

A few days more have passed, and like the times before them, it was all peaceful and quiet. In another time—or perhaps a century and a half ago—he'd have been bored out of his mind, being restless with inactivity and just itching to get into action. Now though, after that fiasco with the failed batarian invasion, he wasn't going to take times like these for granted any longer. He'd enjoy every single minute of it.

Just a few short hours ago, one of the Alliance's patrolling frigates, the SSV _Leyte Gulf_, made landfall on the colony's western outskirts, after receiving Ferris Fields' call for prisoners in need of detainment. They were quick, too. In and out in approximately twenty minutes. No more, no less. After that, things just pretty much returned to normal, at least that's what he thought before returning back to the colony.

A lot of folks in the colony weren't really too happy with the fact that the batarian POWs were still allowed to breathe air, let alone live as prisoners at the expense of the Alliance. The colony's council, Rodriguez included, was quickly convened at the colony's two-story nerve center to discuss the repercussions of what just happened. They were ten people here all in all, including the major; all seated at one of the building's conference rooms, surrounding a large table. When Knowles started the initial discussion, some of them were already arguing in full blast, one in particular was being started by the colony's head of heavy industry.

"Why the hell are we letting those four-eyed bastards be detained by the Alliance?" the man told Knowles and Major Rodriguez specifically. The young man took the outburst in a calm and collected manner before replying.

"Because they already told us what they knew, and last time I checked, we didn't have the resources to maintain a detention facility."

"Who said anything about detaining them?" another man, who was the colony's head of agriculture, said to him. "I was rather hoping we make an example out of them by—" Rodriguez didn't let the man finish; he already knew where this particular point was heading.

"By executing them?" the young major looked at the older man with a harsh glare. "I suppose you were planning on pulling the trigger yourself, huh?"

"That's not what I—" the man tried to explain, but again, he was cut off. This time his rage taking over.

"Then what the hell do you mean, damn it!" Rodriguez stood up from his chair and pounded his fist at the table. "I will _not _condone executions to helpless prisoners-of-war!"

"And you think they'll show the same courtesy to us?" the colony's head of hydroponics asked him.

"So, what?" the major countered them. "Just because they're _that_ brutal and animalistic does not mean we have to stoop up to their level, all of us here are better than that." That shut all of them up immediately. After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, Knowles cleared his throat.

"Then it's settled then," the older man in charge of the entire colony told all of them. "unless, of course, there are other issues that needs to be settled with?" none of them said a word. "Alright then, dismissed."

Every single one of them filed out of the conference room, just leaving Knowles and Rodriguez as its sole occupants, both of them still seated at their respective chairs, Pat at the table's topmost area, the major just settled next to him on his left. Both of them were silent for a few moments until the older man decided to break it.

"You want a drink?" Rodriguez looked towards him and was rewarded with seeing Knowles' lopsided grin. _Just what I desperately needed._ The young man gave him a grin of his own.

"As long as it's strong enough." Both of them stood up and exited the room, went upstairs, and arrived a few moments later at Knowles' private office. The older man quickly took his seat behind his desk, with the young major doing the same thing across him. Pulling out something from the drawers beneath his desk, the middle-aged man produced a single bottle, which was really, _really _familiar, and he still couldn't believe one of these babies survived the future, before he could open his mouth to ask Knowles' how he got this sweet slice of liquid gold, the colony head beat him to it.

"Chivas Regal," the man told him, unscrewing the bottle's cap and retrieving two plastic tumblers. "this particular bottle has been in our family for generations, aged about…almost a hundred and seventy years, I think. Probably from the same time from yours." He poured generous amounts of scotch to each tumbler and passed the first one to Rodriguez, grabbed the second one, and held it into the air, "To success."

"To a shitload of luck." The major countered and clinked his tumbler with the other one. Bringing the plastic cup underneath his nostrils, he could smell the distinct aroma, the same certain fragrance, which told him this particular bottle was made to perfection. Plus the fact that it had aged for almost two centuries probably made it better than whatever else is out there. Taking a liberal sip, he could feel the slight burning sensation in his throat, followed by the comfortable feeling of warmth in his belly. _Ah, that's the stuff. _He leaned back further in his chair, letting his back feel the coziness of the leather seat. Ahead of him, Knowles followed suit and propped both his legs up on his desk, getting himself more comfortable.

"Must be nice leading a colony," Rodriguez said to the man. "scotch, big office, only thing missing now is a hot secretary." Knowles gave out a loud laugh then regained his composure before answering.

"I used to have one of those," the middle-aged man told him, reminiscing. "back when I used to be an executive at Alliance space." _I didn't know that…_Rodriguez decided to continue further on his query.

"What made you decide to quit being a hot-shot businessman?" the young man asked, insanely curious as to how this old bastard ended up here. Knowles took another sip on his tumbler before moving on.

"Stress, kid. I mean, don't get me wrong, job had a shitload of perks: big house, a hot wife, a few mistresses every now and then, and lots of sports cars." He smiled as he mentioned all of it, and then quickly faded when he frowned. "But, I had about enough of it: the shady deals, the hostile takeovers, mutinous co-workers who wanted to have the majority shares of the company, I couldn't take it anymore. One day, I left the office, just talking a _really _long walk, just didn't stop walking 'til I saw this poster plastered on an old-bricked building."

"What was on the poster?" Rodriguez asked him. Again, Knowles just took another sip on his plastic cup and continued his story.

"It was an old Alliance recruitment poster, urging volunteering citizens to sign up and help colonize new worlds. First time I saw the damn thing, I just stopped walking and looked at it with both of my eyes wide open. Felt like I experienced an epiphany, you know? So I tore the damn thing up and went straight home, showed it to my wife and pitched an idea to form up a colony in the Terminus Systems. You wanna know what her reaction was?"

"Well, don't just beat around the bush, Pat, tell me." The young man told him back, finishing his scotch, which Knowles kindly refilled.

"First, she asked me if I was fucking crazy, which I told her I wasn't. And second, she wanted a divorce. Been married to her for fifteen years, and the moment I suggested we try a hand at colony life, she flat out refused and called a divorce lawyer an hour later. Half of what I own, gone," Knowles snapped his fingers. "just like that, the next day after I signed those damn papers. I guess you could say I was stubborn enough to go on ahead with my half-assed plan, so I went to Arcturus Station, put up a notice there that I was surveying for potential colony worlds in the Terminus, and I ended up with a group of about four hundred people who were as crazy as me. After that, we boarded the second hand freighter I bought from a retiring captain and headed deep inside unknown space, just looking and looking for almost two years 'til we founded Ferris Fields here. It was slow at first, frustrating as hell, then a couple of other settlers heard about our little adventure here and decided to give it a shot and lend a helping hand. They came in groups of about a few people, then it turned to a couple dozen, a couple of hundred, then to about a couple of thousand until we managed to hit about a sizable number of long-term colonists here. It was worth it, I tell ya, living peacefully here in this little paradise. No work-related stress or anger, no one yapping at you for deadlines, no hostile takeovers, everything here is practically delightful."

Rodriguez listened in on every word; the man did really have a colorful history. What he didn't get though was that how can a man, who's really fucking rich as he used to be, deciding to come out here and leave behind everything people would kill for. Granted, living here felt like you were in a tranquil paradise, with no disturbances, courteous neighbors, nice people all around—_you know what, I definitely understand why people would want to live here. _

During Patrick Knowles brief history lesson on how he got here, the two of them had already drank about three-quarters of the entire bottle of scotch, which meant that both of them may have a strong possibility of being drunk. Still, Rodriguez was finally relieving himself of all the stress he'd been under, the tenseness gone, his body now fully relaxed; he hadn't felt like this in ages.

"Now, it's my turn with the questions." Knowles said to him, slurring a bit of his words.

"Sure." Was all that Rodriguez could say.

"I don't mean to intrude or anything," the middle-aged man voiced to him. "but Therese told me that you're having trouble sleeping lately." Rodriguez just stared at the man, his jaw just opening slightly as he tried to comprehend what Knowles just said to him. _Why the hell would she tell him?_ But the older man just continued. "Now, now, before you come to any wild conclusions, she only did this because she was really concerned about you, son. And the only reason she's doing all this is because she really loves you, a lot." Now that really caught the major's attention.

"What makes you say that?" Knowles just let out a soft laugh.

"Believe me when I say this, son, the woman's practically the daughter I never had, and the way I see her look at you whenever you're around, she's practically in love with your sorry ass." To that, Rodriguez let out a loud chuckle. "I'm just saying, she's just trying to help out, is all."

"Fine," the young man conceded. "to answer your question, yeah, been having a bit of nightmares every now and then."

"Because of the men that the batarians killed?" Knowles asked him sensitively.

"Yeah, I guess." Rodriguez answered him simply; he didn't want to revisit this old territory again.

"Well, there's only a simple solution to that, son." The older man told him, emptying the final contents of the bottle to their respective tumblers.

"And what is that?" The major asked him, actually interested in what Knowles had to say to him.

"Honor them, kid. You don't grieve for someone who died horribly in the battlefield. Rather, you should thank God that men like those lived long enough to help you and the rest of the colony out." _Why the hell is that quote so familiar…?_

"That…actually makes sense, really." The young man said to him, drinking a small amount of liquor from his tumbler, the familiar burn welcoming on his throat and stomach. "Where'd you learn that, from?"

"General George Patton." Knowles just told him casually, after which both men broke out laughing for no apparent reason at all.

"You're right, Pat," The major said to him, the seriousness of his voice apparent. "I should do that."

"Yeah, you should." Knowles responded to him, right before gulping down the last contents of his tumbler and putting it down on his desk. "You need a lift home?"

"Nah, I'll probably just talk a short walk, sober up a bit before going home to Therese." Both of them stood up and made their way outside the building, stepping out just in time to see that the twin suns were already gone and was replaced with the darkening blanket of tonight. Rodriguez checked his chrono, it was already 1934 hours. _Already? Damn. _Knowles took his leave and went on the passenger side of his rover, waving the young man goodbye just before his driver sped him off towards his home. Rodriguez began walking on the way home, just thinking about all the things they had discussed previously on Knowles' office. The man did point out to some logical facts, and he was right all along.

Then the idea hits him, just after walking and thinking for about fifteen minutes. He quickly paced himself en route to the militia HQ, which was just a few blocks walk away from where he was. Arriving their a few minutes later, he went to the armory and requisitioned himself one of the new Hahne-Kedar medium hard suits they had just received and forgone the Securitel helmet that the armorer tried to offer to him. Instead, he just got himself a Karpov pistol with an appropriate amount of ammo blocks, a pack full of supplies strapped to his back and nothing else. Thanking the man in charge of the armory, he quickly went his way to exit the colony's via its eastern perimeter; hoping that he had just enough time to do this and go home a bit early to spend some quality time with Therese, the amazing woman who he was now planning on spending the rest of his life with. _Life can't be much better than that. _He thought to himself happily.

* * *

After trekking the outskirts for the better part of about two and a half hours, Rodriguez finally arrived at his destination: the Ferris Field Colonial Militia's burial grounds. As he started to make his way towards the memorial, he could see the dozens of tombstones liberally placed all around him, each of the white marble markers representing colonial militiamen who had died honorably defending the colony and their respective families. He quickly sobered up with the sight all over the place. If it weren't for these brave souls, they wouldn't have achieved a victory during that fateful day, and he was eternally grateful to each and every one of them.

The markers were neatly placed throughout the area. Like the memorial, the marker was modest, with no other extravagant details; just the name, rank, date of birth and death were placed on it, nothing more, nothing less. At the grounds, the grass was neatly trimmed, and the perimeter was protected by a three-meter high modest chain link fence that secured this sacred land from potential looters and grave robbers. As the colony would surely expand greatly, this area would remain barren, serving its purpose as to honor these brave men for doing the ultimate sacrifice.

He finally arrived at the simple, three-meter high slab of titanium, where all the names of the lost where scribbled with the use of one of the colony's excess supply of long-lasting paint. Charlie Company's First Sergeant Jonathan Keller volunteered to write the names down on the titanium hunk, as he used to be a talented painter serving with the Alliance before joining Ferris Fields' community. And he did a damn good job, too. Each of the names was written in perfect, neatly aligned patterns.

Rodriguez quickly remembered during the short time after the battle, the officers all over the militia made a quick head count on those they've lost. Alpha and Bravo Companies had the worst of it, where most of its men were dead and the rest hurt with one kind of wound to another. Charlie Company barely even had a scratch on them. Seeing as their brothers had suffered greatly, the men composing the militia's third infantry company quickly began making plans to construct this area, procuring the equipment and resources necessary to make their plans into reality. Finished it in less than five hours, after which, they did the somber task of making coffins from nearby wood and placing their dead comrades inside before burying them six feet under. Everything they've done here was completely all on their own initiative and without order from him. He was proud of them.

As it was finally completed, the major also remembered giving out a short, simple speech. It was just enough for the battalion to understand the cost, though ugly, was a complete necessity in times of dire need. The men bowed their heads after that, each of them giving out their prayers to the ones who hadn't made it out alive. He remembered every word he said that day, and yet, here he was; still haunted by the faces of what he'd lost before he got here and those he had lost a week before. Even he can't use his own advice.

Laying a soft hand on the piece of titanium, Rodriguez moved it around to the names, touching every single one of them starting with Alpha Company. The poor bastards were definitely hit the worst when the fighting started, with most of its First Platoon gone when the batarians drove through their lines. Nineteen men, killed in action, because he hadn't anticipated the enemy to use tricks to deceive them.

His hand was finally making its way through Bravo Company's losses. At the topmost part of the roster was Staff Sergeant Ivanoff Litovski. According to the casualty reports, he was the highest-ranking grunt who had died during the assault. Slowly making his way downward, his fingers traced the names of a few men he remembered were heavily wounded during the battle due to varren bites, but died shortly after with slow, really painful deaths. Therese told him their screams used to keep her up in most nights when she treated them, but for the major, he knew he was gonna remember it for as long as he'd live.

Finally putting his hand away, he stood just a meter away from the memorial, his eyes darting to each and every single casualty. Making the sign of the cross, Rodriguez bowed his head down, closing his eyes and his hands group together as he made a short prayer to God for the men he'd lost.

_Let them enter the gates of heaven with open arms, where they would never suffer again, and hopefully, would forgive me for failing them._

Opening his eyes again, he looked straight ahead, and with a deep breath, uttered a promise to them. "You will be remembered, each and every single one of you, and when the time comes, I'll be joining you in just a little while."

Giving the titanium slab one final look, he turned around and left heading home.

* * *

**A/N: Hope you guys are ready for a leap in time.**

**-Rookie571**


	9. The Great Leap Forward

**A/N: Sorry for the long delay, a bad case of writer's block has been troubling me lately. But I'm over it. Still, I'm a bit disappointed at how short this chapter is.**

**Sovereign X22, zzzQNzzz, Celis and subsider34 - Thanks for your reviews guys, like I said before, I'm trying to make this as realistic as I possibly can.**

**ianua cordis mei - Z - as always, your opinion and advice is greatly appreciated, I'll make the proper changes to my next chapter ASAP. Again, I apologize, I'm not really used to writing fanfics yet.**

**mivpus and Michael - thanks for your opinion, I hope you two enjoy this chapter.**

**To the others, I owe a lot of thanks for you honest input, advice, and opinions, I also would like thank you for taking the time to read this.**

**For now, I bring you the final chapter before the shit hits the fan. Enjoy!**

* * *

**January 7****th**** 2185 C.E. **

**Ferris Fields**

A single UT-47 Kodiak transport screamed at the colony overhead, its quick passing clearly heard as it blasted off at a steady speed of three hundred knots, cruising at a fixed altitude of about nine hundred feet. In the shuttle's passenger compartment, Henry Rodriguez gazed on the nearby view screen next to him, watching as the once small settlement he had seen a few years back has now become one of the major human colonial hubs in the Terminus System. Because of that, his responsibilities grew even bigger. Just seated across from him was his executive officer, Adrian Walters, who right now was busying himself tinkering with a datapad, assessing the progress of their new assignment: constructing Ferris Fields' new automated LADAR early warning system.

After the failed batarian invasion, Patrick Knowles had invested a lot of the colony's funds on improving ways to better protect themselves. And he'd done quite well over the times that went by: upgrading the militia's small arms to the new standard thermal clip system, acquiring newer offensive weapons systems, acquiring advanced hard suits, and even purchasing four secondhand Kodiak shuttles. It had really put a major dent on the colonial economy, but they eventual overcame the large costs and recovered. As of right now, Knowles had already begun construction of his newest venture to improve ways of defending the colony, to which the young man and his subordinate were currently busting their asses off.

The outlying LADAR picket was first conceived about seven months ago, when Rodriguez pitched an idea to Knowles about an early warning system that could give them enough time to detect an enemy's presence, and then let them prepare accordingly for any further enemy assaults. The older man quickly approved of the idea and appropriated the required funds to purchase the tools, material and resources necessary to put this plan into reality. Of all the defense initiatives Knowles sanctioned, this was, by far, the most expensive. But in the end, the middle-aged man thought that this would really help in the long run, not wanting to repeat the events that transpired which resulted in the loss of sixty-five good men.

The early warning system was composed of quite a few LADAR transmitters that were strategically placed at numerous sites, positioned hundreds of klicks surrounding the colony. Each of these transmitter sites had a range of about several hundred kilometers, which covered a really wide area, giving them a protective blanket of anything that goes in their way. Already, some of the installations have now been assembled, which placed the picket's overall completion to about seventy percent. It was frustrating work at first, the brand new Hahne-Kedar LPQ-287 LADAR transmitters were difficult to familiarize and operate, complex mathematical algorithms were needed to set up a decent tracking pattern for the planned protective umbrella to follow, and it took about three months for the militia's best programmers to come up with the necessary configurations.

But after that, it was practically smooth sailing along the way. Only about a handful of remote stations were left to set up, and Steve Cortez, the colony's head of construction and development, assured them that they could finalize its end in about a week's time. If anyone could make it happen, it was him. Rodriguez rather liked the guy; he was a talented, resourceful man who could make anything happen and work with limited assets and equipment. A former Alliance pilot, he and his husband/life partner Robert came here to peacefully retire from their line of work and settle down. It was weird seeing them together at first, them being an openly gay couple, but over time, he came to respect and like them due to their friendly nature and hard work. Plus the fact that Therese and Robert got along so well that it was amusing to see them converse for what seems like hours on end, as they basically talk about on anything about everything.

All of a sudden, the pilot's voice broke him out of his thoughts. "Sir, we'll be landing momentarily now, hold on." He could feel the Kodiak instantly decelerate from its initial flight speed, the shuttle's four thrusters underneath letting them hover for a short while until they made landfall about a few seconds later. The port-side door quickly slid open, with Rodriguez and his XO quickly exiting the vehicle, where a military rover was waiting right ahead of them. Both of the officers entered it, and the vehicle quickly sped off, making its way towards the militia HQ. The weather was nice today, thin clouds above, followed by a gentle breeze and a sunny disposition; it really was a good day. Next to him, Adrian Walters spoke, his eyes still glued at the datapad in front of him.

"Sir, the IFF transponders on the Kodiaks hasn't been installed yet," Walters told him. "we need them up and running ASAP. If the picket's already operational, they might mistake those birds as hostile and let the SAMs shoot them down." Rodriguez grunted in agreement, his eyes still surveying the colony. It was amazing how quickly Ferris Fields' advanced and expanded. Already, its borders were growing, new structures were being built, and more importantly, there were more colonists willing to settle down here in the colony. The overall population had already exceeded 17,000 colonials, and the militia grew even larger to further accommodate its mandate of protecting civilian lives. From a single battalion, the colonial militia grew into a full regiment of three infantry battalions, each reinforced by multiple support units of armor, artillery, and until recently, aerial assets. The Ferris Fields Colonial Militia wasn't an auxiliary unit composed of green horns anymore, but a fully-fledged fighting force capable of various tasks, from simple garrison duties to force interdiction, anti-piracy operations, or even large full-scale battles, if the time came for them to act upon it.

These guys have already proved themselves in the face of danger a year and a half ago, repelling a force that was far greater than their own and with less equipment than what they had now. Overall militia strength was about nine hundred sixty-four men, divided into three battalions, its officers were veterans from the failed batarian invasion attempt. And since he was now commanding a regiment, Knowles had deemed it fit to promote him to the rank of lieutenant colonel and his XO as a major commanding one of the battalions. Other than that, nothing really did change that much. There were a few pirate threats here and there, but they manage to launch a pre-emptive strike on every single one of them, further preventing another conflict from endangering their home.

The military rover arrived at the HQ minutes later, with the colonel and Major Walters hastily disembarking from it and going in on the building's entrance, both of the guards posted there giving out a crisp salute, to which both officers returned in kind. They made their way into Rodriguez's office and quickly settled themselves within, the regimental CO taking a seat on his leather chair, whereas the major still stood at perfect attention.

"So," the colonel said to his executive officer. "are there any other matters that need to be attended, major?"

"Well, the Sparrowhawks are being prepped for deployment alongside the LADAR sites," Walters replied to him. "we could get them all operational within thirty-six hours, sir."

"Excellent." Rodriguez happily replied. The M216 Sparrowhawk long-range surface-to-air missile batteries were another thing Knowles procured for them. Deployed just behind the LADAR installations, these largely automated, state-of-the-art air defenses could knock out anything the size of a large gunship or shuttle, as long as it came within range of their protective umbrella. "Have the techs from Third Battalion help out if they have any difficulties setting them up."

"Yes sir." Walters gave his commanding officer a salute, then spun around and left his office. Once again left with his thoughts, the young colonel leaned back on his leather chair and pondered on the events that went by. It had been an eventful year and a half, and the time he spent here even more so. The colony was now completely safe, its defenses firmly in place, and the men who've sworn to protect it were expertly trained and better equipped to deal with any threat.

_But why the hell do I feel like it's still not good enough? _He thought to himself. He shrugged the bad thought off. He had already done what he could for Ferris Fields, training them to be the best that they can be, with Knowles giving them the proper tools necessary. Yet somehow, something told him that a greater threat still existed out there, even more dangerous than batarian pirates and slavers. And he had no idea what the hell it was. As a soldier, Rodriguez was trained to trust his gut instinct, no matter how stupid or pointless it would lead. Still, it wouldn't hurt to be more cautious when danger came looking for him, but until that time comes, he was contented with just spending another peaceful day here in paradise.

His omni-tool sprang to life on his arm, the familiar holographic interface engulfing the area with it an orange glow. Someone was trying to contact him, and he didn't need to guess as to who would try to reach him at a time like this. Accepting the call, he quickly heard the all too familiar voice of the one person he really cared about.

"Hey you," Therese's lovely voice filling his ear. "you still coming home for dinner?" Rodriguez just gave out a soft chuckle before answering her back.

"Hey, babe. Yeah, I'll be there in just a little bit."

"You better," the young woman said to him in a slightly teasing tone. Once again, the colonel just laughed a second time. _God, I love this woman. _

"I'll see you in a few minutes, babe." With that, Rodriguez disconnected the call and powered up his computer terminal. For now, he had to read the readiness reports of every single one of his regiment's battalions. That took about a few minutes, with the reports indicating that all of them were completely combat ready. He smiled at the results. These men were now prepared to face any threat, anytime and anywhere. Shutting down his terminal, he checked his chrono for the time. Twenty minutes past 1700. He just had enough time to get into a rover, drive his way home, and have dinner with Therese.

Exiting his office, he hurriedly went outside the militia building and hailed for his personal rover. The vehicle arrived in front of him moments later, and he entered inside through the passenger seat. The driver inside faced him.

"Where to, colonel?" One of the perks of being in charge of the colonial militia was having a personal driver assigned to you that could take you anywhere you wished to go, and right now, Rodriguez was certainly gonna enjoy the simple advantages of being in command.

"Home, corporal." The young colonel said to the NCO behind the wheel. The rover sprang to life momentarily, making its way towards the regimental CO's residence. Another perfect night with the woman he loved, he wasn't exactly going to say no to that.

* * *

"Babe, I'm _hoooome._" Rodriguez said to no one in particular as he opened the door and went inside their modest house; just after the chauffeur/corporal dropped him off outside after twenty minutes of driving the colony's roadways. Going further inside, the colonel unbuttoned his olive green fatigue jacket, took it off, and shoved it unceremoniously on the laundry basket outside the bathroom. As he neared the kitchen he saw Therese in front of the electric stove, cooking something that smelled delicious, with a slight hint of…_basil leaves?_

He saw the young woman was wearing one of his plain olive-green shirts, matched by a pair of drawstring sweat pants. Yep, she was still beautiful, now more than ever. He also noticed that she had a pair of wireless ear plugs playing something on both of her ears, making her completely oblivious to his presence. Working his way towards her, he slowly put his arms around her waist and gives a quick kiss on her neck. Therese didn't even flinch at the sudden body contact, only giving out a small smile as she continues prodding the dish she was cooking with a spatula for a few seconds, turns her head to face him, then plants a quick kiss on his lips.

"Evening, stranger," she said to him, her pale blue eyes on his dark brown ones, a huge grin plastered on her face.

"How's my girl?" Rodriguez whispered near her right ear, his head slightly touching her own. Therese just chuckled for a bit, her attention still on the cooked meal ahead of her.

"Hungry." Was all that Therese could say; which in turn gave the colonel a hearty laugh. His hands still on her waist, he kept them there, rubbing her abdomen gently until he could feel the slight bump resting there.

"And how's my _other _girl?" Even though her focus was concentrated on her home-cooked meal, the young doctor couldn't help but grin from ear to ear once again.

"Why don't you see for yourself." Rodriguez just let out a smile. Disengaging from his embrace, he quickly went around his wife and crouched low, bringing his head closer unto Therese's abdomen, his right ear firmly planted there in place.

He could hear a faint heartbeat, followed by the occasional kick as the living, breathing thing inside that was his future daughter was moving constantly. He never imagined himself being a father, but after receiving the news a few months ago from Therese, it made him think long and hard. _Am I really ready to be a dad? _That thought really bothered him clearly, working its way towards his head, asking to himself if he was truly prepared for the joys and consequences of fatherhood.

But then he realized something, he loved Therese more than anything else in his life, she was his rock, his confidant, his best friend, and more importantly, she was the only reason why he wasn't breaking down with everything he's ever been through. And before she told him about the news, she always did say that she wanted to know what it felt like, being a mother. Rodriguez thought about it thoroughly. Who was he to deny her this after all the good things that she's done to him? So, at that moment, he decided he was gonna give this a shot, at being a dad.

And so here he was now, hearing the very slight signs of his baby daughter growing ever so slowly; if he was going to be honest about it, he always did hope that he was going to raise a son. Teaching him the ways of becoming a man, how to play basketball (if it still even existed) and to show the little guy about everything there was to know about being an honorable person.

So when he found out that he was going to raise a baby girl, it pretty much ruined any of his hopes of having a little boy. He didn't have any clue on how to raise a daughter, and even today, that still scared the living daylights out of him. Yet somehow, throughout all his doubts of raising a kid of the opposite sex, he was confident that his dearly beloved wife could take care of any of this stuff. She _was_ the kid's future mother, after all. So he'd be bound to expect that she read everything there was to know about having a baby.

"You finished there, stranger?" looking up, he saw Therese looking down on him, her smile still in place and both of her hands placed on her hips. Even though she was already about three months pregnant, the young woman's belly wasn't really protruding that much, unlike the usual pregnancies where it could be clearly noticed. To the untrained eye, it looked as if the doctor had a huge lunch instead of carrying a still, undeveloped daughter. Rodriguez knew for sure she certainly wasn't going to complain about that.

"Yeah, I guess you could say that." He stood straight in front of her and proceeded to wrap his arms around her waist and lower back. "I still can't believe that I'm gonna be a dad."

"Why not?" Therese asked him, following his example and placing her arms around his neck. "Still can't get over the fact that Henry Junior doesn't exist yet?" Rodriguez's eyes widened for a moment in surprise. _How the hell is she doing that?_ Catching the look of shock in his face, she just laughed and said, "What?"

"How are you doing that?" He asked her, disbelief completely apparent in his voice. Therese just looked at him coyly.

"Doing what?" she asked him innocently, her devious eyes blinking theatrically.

"_That,_" Rodriguez told her pointedly, referring to her innate skill of reading him like some sort of damn book. "it's like you're reading my mind or something. How do you do that?"

"And why should I tell you, hmmm? A girl's gotta have some secrets every now and then." The young woman told him secretively. The colonel just sighed exaggeratedly and moved in to give her a nippy kiss on her lips.

"You know, I'm trained in ways to make people talk, right?"

"Yeah? Well, I'm pregnant and my hormones let me act unpredictably. Think you can top that, honey?" She told him matter-of-factly, while smiling mischievously at the same time. At this point, Rodriguez pretty much conceded with another sigh. There was no way he was getting anything out of her regarding her skill of reading him. Before he could think of some ways to let her reveal her ability, he thought about something else. _Wait a minute…_

"Yet?" The colonel asked her.

"You didn't expect our daughter was going to be the only child in our family, did you?"

Rodriguez just laughed out loud. He hadn't quite anticipated that his lovely wife wanted to have more than one kid. _Well, the more the merrier they always say._ Raising one child was hard enough, but a couple more of them? This was going to mean a _lot_ of sleepless nights for him and Therese. But she didn't seem to be bothered by it, not in the least; in fact, she kind of was excited with the prospect of having more than one child. Maybe it was her hormones talking, or maybe it wasn't; either way, she sure as hell gave the impression of wanting to experience motherhood so badly.

"Anyways," Therese voice broke him out of his reverie. "why don't you go take a shower first then set the table once you're done. Food's almost ready."

"Copy that." Rodriguez grinned madly and left for the bathroom.

* * *

"What about…Catherine?" Therese said to the colonel.

"That kinda sounds a bit too regal, babe." Rodriguez replied to her. They were sitting parallel to each other on the dinner table, their meals half-eaten and both of them gingerly taking a sip from their respective wine glasses. For the past half-hour, they were discussing on potential names for their baby girl. So far, they haven't been that successful on agreeing to a single one.

"Okay, okay, what about Alexandra?" The young man just chuckled at another one of his wife's suggestions before responding to her.

"Now you're just making it worse." Therese put down her wine glass on the table and crossed her arms, her face in a mock-serious glare.

"And you think you can do better, huh?" Rodriguez gulped the entire contents of his glass and placed his glass down, scratching his chin to further emphasize his deep thought on the matter. Then, it finally got to him.

"I got it!" He happily exclaimed. "How about Ashley?" His wife's face showed him of her apparently confused look, and he further explained why he chose that particular name. "It's not that regal, it's down-to-earth, sweet, and I kinda like how it sounds."

The last bit he mentioned made Therese chuckle for a while. Grabbing her wine glass once again and taking a liberal sip, she pondered on her husband's idea. Ever since she got pregnant, the colony's local obstetrician advised his wife that she shouldn't exceed her wine consumption of just about three glasses per week. Rodriguez took the doctor's counsel seriously and held a close eye on how many glasses Therese managed to consume. Right now, to his estimate, it was about two glasses…_or was it three?_ _Damn it. _The young man mentally cursed at his lapse in memory. He sure as hell wasn't going to ask her about it. It wasn't really a matter of pride; he was just a wee bit embarrassed that he lost count about it.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he almost didn't notice a hand being waved in front of him, blocking most of his sight. Surprised, he reared back, and he saw Therese standing next to him, one of her damn irresistible smile firmly in place. _How the hell did she get there?_ She just laughed and said, "Drifting off, are we?" Rodriguez just laughed nervously before answering.

"Sorry about that, did you say something?"

"Yeah, I did actually." His heart raced. _Oh God, please don't let me make a comlpete ass out of myself again. _"I said that Ashley is a nice name for our daughter." _Jesus, that was close…wait, what?_

"Really?" Rodriguez asked her, clearly not bothering to hide his surprise at his wife's sudden agreement to his suggestion. She just shrugged.

"Well, yeah," she said to him. "I never quite figured that sometimes a name as simple as that is just as beautiful at the other elaborate ones I mentioned. So, kudos to you, honey." The young colonel couldn't help but smile, refilling his wine glass and holding it in front of his wife.

"I say this calls for a toast, don't you think?" Therese just let out a soft laugh before grabbing her own glass and bumping it to his.

"To Ashley Allison Rodriguez, then." She said.

_That doesn't actually sound bad at all…_


	10. The End of the Beginning

**A/N:**

**Hey guys! Sorry for the really long update on this story, I was a bit busy with my immigration to the States that I had completely forgotten about writing this here fanfic. Anyways, I bring you one of the final chapters set in Ferris Fields. I made this a bit too fast so there's bound to be a lot of mistakes. So hope you guys enjoy. :)**

* * *

**January 15****th**** 2185 C.E.**

**Ferris Fields outskirts / LADAR Site 14**

**(621 km away from the colony)**

The LPQ-287 high-resolution laser detection and ranging (LADAR) transmitter was an impressive marvel of engineering, precision technical skill, and high-end technological prowess. Standing at a height of about seven meters, the hulking Hahne-Kedar built sensor equipment was now in its final developmental stages, where the transmission tower was fully erect and the solar panels providing the necessary power were now properly set up. All that was left at present was appropriately aligning the last communication relay with the other ones, so that it would correctly convey the transmitter's readings back to the militia command post. A task at which the benevolent Steve Cortez was now supervising, as a bunch of guys from the militia's Third Battalion volunteered to help out the colony's head of construction in setting up their protective umbrella.

A few meters behind them, Lieutenant Colonel Henry Rodriguez stood guard, watching them with a bored gaze as they busy themselves with their respective tasks of building up the umbrella's final LADAR installation. He could've just stayed back at the militia HQ and let them radio him once they were done, but the colonel wanted to stretch his legs out for a bit, enjoy the planet's idyllic beauty, hell, maybe even down a few cans of beer while he was it. Which is why he brought a couple of them in the shuttle, as a surprise gift to Cortez and the rest of the construction outfit once there job here was complete.

Next to him, Major Adrian Walters was also keeping an eye on the detail, who were just about finishing up on their jobs. But unlike the good 'ole colonel, the major's gaze was sharp and alert, taking in the view of the nearby surroundings and assessing anything that was out of place, or something that could endanger the entire group; like a proud hawk maintaining an eye in the sky. To him, Walters was basically the picturesque essence of the model warrior: dependable, disciplined, smart and loyal. Any task he'd been given was thoroughly completed while performing admirably; and any situation he'd somehow find himself in, he had about a dozen contingency plans already set in motion. In short, the guy was the perfect soldier. As good as that sounded though, it came with a cost.

The otherwise extremely talented executive officer didn't have a clue as to how to live a usually normal life. Though, it wasn't his fault to begin with; after having been rescued by Knowles from a batarian slaver ring when Walters, alongside several others, were bought by the middle-aged man, practically saving them from certain death. According to the files Rodriguez read about him, he lost his parents when he was three, in an attack from the very same group that enslaved him and the rest of the population of a colony named New Malta, which was also located in the Terminus Systems. Life wasn't exactly fair to the poor kid, and everything he ever did there during his hard tenure under the batarian's infamous hospitality was pretty much too horrifying to describe. He had to endure all of those for eleven godforsaken years, before Knowles found him in the slums of Omega; practically suffering from malnutrition, various ailments, and immense physical and psychological trauma.

The sight of Walters' condition at that time practically broke the older man's heart, and instead of using the funds he had to purchase another water condenser for the colony, he used all of it to free the kid and seven other boys from their erstwhile captors. A few of them hadn't survived the trip back to Ferris Fields, succumbing to their ever worsening condition, where only the major and two others made it out alive. And it took the doctors here at the colony a couple of years for them to minimize the extent of their subjugator's damage to the youngsters' physical and mental health.

Once they were deemed fit and healthy enough, Walters and the rest of the boys decided to help out, by volunteering to join up in the colony's planetary militia. And they served commendably too, right up until the batarian's attack which resulted in two of them getting killed, leaving Walters the only sole survivor. It was tough on the young man, losing the only friends he's ever known, only making his social awkwardness worse with no one else left to relate with his extremely precarious situation.

Still, whenever he was on-duty, he did a great job at ensuring everything was in proper order. But when his shift was over though, he just stayed in his barracks and kept on reading things that were somewhat related to his posting as the militia's executive officer. Having lost two guys he considered his brothers were too much for the major to contemplate, and Rodriguez thought he never really recovered after that. Barely going out to spend some time to relax, or even make new friends with the exception of a certain armored cavalryman, Walters was essentially a machine, whose only sole purpose left in his life was to protect the colony at all costs. Or maybe even die trying.

Rodriguez just let out a sigh, hoping to God that in His infinite wisdom that He would at least grant Walters some small measure of peace, like He did for him when he needed it the most. Life, in all its unpredictable cruelty, chose to take one giant dump on the poor kid, and yet here he was now, still stoic as a rock, ever vigilant in completing his mission as if nothing catastrophic ever happened to him in his existence. The colonel admired that about him, and in a slightly bizarre kind of way, the young major reminded him of himself. _After this gig is over, I'm gonna go see if I can talk to him_…

Behind him just a few meters away, he could hear someone exiting the UT-47 shuttle, the distinct pneumatic-hiss of the transport's door opening was clearly audible. He didn't even turn his head to take a look, knowing damn well who the only person inside of it was.

"Hey fellas," The exceptional voice of First Lieutenant Albert Johnson was picked up on the colonel's ears, followed by him yawning. Finally turning his head around, he saw the cavalry officer heading their way, stretching his arms out while his bones were cracking from the exertion. Rodriguez just gave out a small smile and shook his head in disbelief, the Southern-accented kid could practically sleep anywhere with a smooth surface on it.

Hailing from the colony of New Canton, Johnson was an exceptional guy, with a knack for just charging headfirst into battle and hoping to God that he wouldn't get killed. In other words, he was pretty much the stereotypical armored jockey. What he lacked in tactics, he made up for it with his explosive bravado and sheer luck. It usually worked. Well, most of the time anyway. When he turned seventeen, he left home with the blessing of his parents to make a name for himself in the galaxy. After he heard that a new colony was going to be developed, he jumped at the chance to finally prove himself, going to Arcturus Station to meet Knowles and signing up to join in the older man's expedition. Fast forward a few years into the future, and here he was now, practically living in a man's wet dream of driving and commanding a bunch of big-ass tanks with their huge caliber guns.

Like the colonel, the lieutenant also opted for the chance to get out and do something. While the prospect of having everlasting peace was appealing for the likes of Rodriguez and Knowles, the very idea of it was revolting for Johnson. For him, the outlook of not being able to shoot at anything hostile was the root cause of, in the Southerner's own exact words, "being fucking insane".

The young officer in-charge of the militia's tank company stood beside him and the major, looking at the group of guys doing their thing. "When the hell are those eggheads going to be finished?" Johnson impatiently asked, directing the question to both of them.

"They're just doing a few calibrations to see if the comm relays are operational and receiving." Walters responded, his eyes still on Cortez and the rest of the construction detail. Johnson pondered on what the major just told him and scratched his chin, trying to think if he was ever going to understand whatever it was the regimental XO said.

"Riiiight, you're absolutely right, with them calibrations and transmitters." It took all of Rodriguez's willpower not to laugh hysterically at Johnson. The guy may be a badass on the battlefield, but on everything else tech-related and complicated, he absolutely didn't have a clue. _Let's see if we mess can with him for a little bit…_

"Yeah," the colonel joined in. "those two-eight-seven LADARs can be a real pain in the ass sometimes. Think we should've just bought the three-hundred series instead?" The lieutenant noticeably gulped.

"Uh…yeah, sure." Johnson hesitantly replied. Next to him, Walters just smirked, his gaze still looking out ahead. The colonel smiled inwardly, not letting his subordinate catch on.

"Really? Why is that?" Rodriguez asked the lieutenant innocently. "I thought you'd settle for the ones we've got, seeing as the two-eight-seven's performance in detecting thermal and radiation emissions is more superb than the three-hundred series. Though, it sucks knowing that the new transmitters don't have to rely on comm relays anymore to transfer data back on the CP, right?" The cavalryman was now sweating profusely; he always did that whenever he was nervous or agitated.

"Well, you know…it's because of the—uh, that—that thing, needing some sort of advanced, uh…thing." The last bit from whatever it was Johnson was trying to say made Rodriguez break out in laughter, his faux serious tone gone as he couldn't hold it in anymore, nearly doubling over from laughing too much. Even the major gave out a soft chuckle, clearly finding his fellow officer's apparent discomfort amusing. The lieutenant's cheeks quickly blushed in a bright shade of red, which was already mixing with his previously sweat-filled facial features. The young man's eyes looked down on the ground in utter embarrassment.

"You guys suck." Johnson offhandedly said to both of them, a bit distressed towards both of his immediate superiors, who were still laughing their collective asses off at his expense for about a minute or so. Finally, Rodriguez's laugh died down before he looked up to address the lieutenant.

"Oh, lighten up, Al. You gotta admit, it was pretty damn funny." The armored cavalryman still wasn't convinced, though his cheeks' were starting to return to their natural skin tone instead of the distinct red of embarrassment from earlier.

"Whatever, one of these days, I _am _going to fully retaliate," Johnson said to the colonel with a dead-serious look, his tone soft and deadly—right before the distinct glint of his eyes returned and his usual sing-song Southern voice came back almost immediately. "just not today of course." Rodriguez just grinned at him wildly.

"Even if I ordered you not to?"

"_Especially_ if you ordered me not to…sir." And with that, all three of them spontaneously just started laughing with delight for a few moments, the sounds of their cheerfulness clearly evident. As their laughter started to fade, Rodriguez's gaze looks further out ahead, seeing the entirety of the Bonanza Mountain Ranges, their perfect cone-shaped form supplemented with their snow-capped peaks, further adding testament to their already serene beauty. They were tall ones too; its overall height almost the same from that of Mount Everest in the Himalayas back on Earth, approximately reaching at nearly eight and a half thousand meters.

Stretching for nearly about a dozen kilometers, the mountains were a damn good sight for everyone's eyes, especially to those who greatly appreciated Mother Nature's cunning works of art. At least here in this place, you wouldn't freeze your ass off, compared to where Earth's tallest mountain was located. As he stood there and continued admiring the vast mountain ranges ahead of him, the colonel let out a smile; remembering the range's somewhat…"unique" name. It was all thanks to Patrick Knowles, of course, who thought it was a great idea to name it out of something so random and stupid. Still, whenever he asked him about it, the middle-aged man didn't have any regrets. Just thinking about the time where he inputted the mountain range's official name into the colony's navigational databanks still made him laugh his ass off. And everyone who happened to be at the colony during that time thought it wasn't really a bad name to give to a couple of huge, beautiful rocks.

Overall, this planet was an absolute idyllic paradise. Everywhere you go, you could see the green of grass on the ground, lush forests of untouched trees spreading for miles on end, and the climate was just perfect; the rain not drowning them with heavy floods and the system's twin-stars not searing them with extreme heat either. Everything on this planet was downright perfect. A shining diamond in the rough, or like finding a needle in a haystack, either way, the colonel believed that he was lucky when he ended up here out of all the places he could've been dumped in. If he hadn't, he'd probably end up in some batarian colony, practically screwed the second he got there. _No regrets at all._ Rodriguez happily thought.

"Hey, colonel!" Johnson's voice broke him out of his momentary trance. "I think their already done." Looking away from the Bonanza, Rodriguez returned his attention towards the direction of the LADAR installation, where the ground crew was already resting and Steve Cortez was heading his way.

"Ahead of schedule, as always." The colonel said to Cortez once he stopped next to the three of them. "Damn good job, Steve." The ex-Alliance officer just grinned gleefully from ear-to-ear. His white teeth were practically glistening in the sunlight, in stark contrast to his skin-tone, which was a brown, dark-skinned complexion.

"I aim to please," The man replied, who stood just beside Rodriguez and proceeded to stare at the immense beauty of the mountain ranges right ahead of them, his mouth gaping in awe. _Probably what I looked like a few moments earlier. _"Beautiful, ain't it?"

"Yep." The colonel simply answered, as his eyes once again focused on the mountains. No matter how many times he'd look at the rock formations, it'd never get old; nature's beauty at its best. "Say, Cortez, you thirsty?" The man in question just chuckled and stretched his arms out before replying.

"Yeah, sure. Why the hell not? I guess I could use a drink or two."

"Excellent," Rodriguez faced Johnson and motioned for him to get their little surprise from the shuttle. The young lieutenant smiled happily and double-timed it towards the Kodiak. He was in and out in approximately five seconds flat, carrying a medium-sized cooler and placed it on the ground near them. The colonel went near the thing and pressed the button just below the lid, which rose ever so slowly. A few seconds later, everyone was rewarded with the sight of a couple of cans of Budweiser beer, which was surrounded by a lot ice cubes.

Cortez took one look at the cooler's contents and nodded approvingly. Rodriguez grabbed the first can and threw it in the man's direction, and the colony's head of construction caught it in mid-air. "First round's on us." Johnson happily said to the guy as he got two cans for himself and Major Walters. The ex-Alliance pilot just let out a hearty laugh for a few seconds or so, then placed his thumb and index finger in his mouth to produce a rather loud whistle in the direction of the ground crew near the LADAR transmitter. After which, Cortez cupped his right hand near his mouth and started yelling.

"Hey boys, the colonel's buying us drinks, get your asses over here! It'd be damn impolite to say no." The five guys who volunteered to help out Cortez cheered happily as they hurriedly started hauling their asses off in Rodriguez's general direction; where Walters and Johnson started handing out each a can containing three hundred and fifty milliliters of pure, unadulterated, golden goodness. One by one, they received their respective cans and eagerly opened it, chugging its contents almost instantly. A few belches were heard, followed by roaring laughter as some of them have already finished drinking their share. As the major outstretched his hand to give out a Budweiser to the last person on the ground crew without a beer yet, Rodriguez immediately gestured for his XO to stop.

The major immediately complied and withdrew his hand, his facial expression showed he was a bit confused, but he obeyed nonetheless. The young colonel immediately stood in front of the militiamen in question and observed him from head to toe. His hair was tousled, and he had an average height of about 5'9" or so, and he was skinny too boot. _Looks a bit young, isn't he? _He thought to himself. Rodriguez cleared his throat and then said, "State your name and rank."

The militiamen eyes widened for a moment, then regained his composure. Apparently still a bit nervous from his CO's sudden attention to him. "Hadley, George. Private First Class, sir."

"And how old are you, Private Hadley?" The young man twitched his right eye subconsciously.

"Uh—se—se—seventeen years old, sir." The militiamen stammered out his reply. Rodriguez gave the private a really serious look for what seemed like the better part of a minute, before his lips broke out into a smile and grinned wildly.

"Oh, what the hell." Grabbing the beer can in his XO's hand; the colonel tossed it in Hadley's direction, which the younger man was fumbling to catch. "Make sure you don't get drunk, or I'll have you and your squad get kay-pee duty for an entire week. That clear?" The young private smiled brightly and gave his CO a crisp, perfect salute before answering back, his voice filled with delight.

"Sir, yes sir!" Everyone present laughed heartily before returning to their tasks of tending to their drinks, which were already getting empty at an alarming rate. _Good thing Johnson suggested we bring a few dozen. _The colonel thought thankfully for one of his officers.

The group that congregated near the shuttle earlier splintered into different groups, with the ground crew spreading near the LADAR tower, laughing their asses off while drinking their respective cans of beer. A lot of them had gone back to the cooler for seconds. Meanwhile, the officers were still bunched up near the shuttle, still captivated by the sheer beauty of the Bonanza Mountains in its entirety.

All four of them just stood there, drinks in hand, staring at the magnificent view ahead of them for quite some time—before First Lieutenant Johnson decided to break the ice by opening his rather loud mouth.

"Hey Major," the southerner faced the regimental XO. "you remember Michelle Jennings, right?" Walters turned to look at the lieutenant; his facial expression showed he was a bit confused and curious at the same time.

"Yeah, so?" Was all the major gave out as a reply towards the armored cavalry officer. Rodriguez just seemed contented to listen to them bicker to each other out of sheer amusement, before the name Johnson gave out clicked in his head.

"Yeah, what about her, _lieutenant_?" The colonel decided to enter in on their conversation, stressing on the southerner's rank to make him spill out his beans about her. Michelle Jennings was one of the nurses in the colony's clinic, and more importantly, she was one of Therese's closest friends. _And was one of her most attractive friends…oh, no. Damn it, Al. _

"Well," Johnson just went on to further explain whatever it was he was trying to say, unfazed from what his CO said earlier. "word is that she's been crushing on you lately, major." Walters just gave out a sigh before responding back to him.

"So?" The lieutenant seemed to be taken aback from what the major said, emphasizing it with a theatrical gasp and a hand placed on his chest.

"'So?' Are you fuckin' kidding me? Have you seen her lately? She's like the hottest girl that's out there—" Johnson faced the colonel "—no offense to your gorgeous wife, sir." Cortez laughed out loud from that statement while Rodriguez just gave out a not-so-subtle face palm. For now, the lieutenant kept on rambling. "And for some ungodly reason, she thinks _you're _cute; and you're still not going to do anything about it?"

Walters just let out a smirk that betrayed none of what he thought on the matter, which made Johnson all the more annoyed. He was about to launch another tirade on the matter when Rodriguez decided to pre-empt him with a civil conversation with the ex-Alliance fighter jock.

"So, Cortez, how're things with Robert?" The fair-skinned pilot just let out a smile and sighed contentedly. _Does that mean…? Dear God. I never should've asked. _The thought of them doing…it, wasn't exactly the reason why he asked. Maybe he was just overthinking it? Yeah, maybe he was. And so Rodriguez willed his mind to shut the hell up so he can listen on what the man had to say.

"Everything's great, really." Cortez told him. "Every day he wakes up in this paradise, there's practically a smile plastered in his face and he's ready to take on the world or something." The colonel chuckled for a bit. Where they really that ecstatic on being here? It looked like it, and whenever he saw either one of them, the smile was practically a permanent fixture on their facial features. Rodriguez decided to ask him a question.

"Say, Steve," The colonel drank from his beer for a bit before asking away. "what made you decide to quit the Alliance? Based on what you told us, it's practically a dream job to be there." Now it was the pilot's turn to laugh.

"Yeah, it was." Cortez said to him, taking a liberal sip from his own beer. "They let me fly, and that's pretty much the only thing that really mattered to me at that time." His face broke out into a small smile. "That, and meeting Robert."

"How did you guys meet, anyway?" The colonel asked, curious as to what made them drawn to each other.

"Happened during my stint at the SSV _Hawking_," The pilot told them, Walters and Johnson were already starting to listen intently. "so there I was, tinkering with one of the Helios vector thrusters on my Trident, just minding my own business, when out of nowhere, this guy just walks up to me and asks me what I was doing."

"Did you tell the guy to fuck off?" Johnson asked the pilot in earnest. Next to him, Walters just shook his head and gave out a face palm, still not contemplating the stupidity of the question. Cortez just chuckled and went on.

"No, didn't have the pleasure. I just told him what I did. He asked a few more questions about my F-61 then went on to his merry way."

"So, that's it?" The lieutenant cut in once again. "What happened next?"

"Maybe if you shut up every once in a while, he might actually tell you." Walters angrily told him. Johnson gave him a glare, the middle-finger and a few choice words about him not taking the opportunity to land, in his words, "the second hottest chick in Ferris Fields". Rodriguez just laughed softly at the exchange while Cortez went on to finish his story.

"Anyway, it all seemed unusual and all. So I just finished up for the night and went to my bunk. The next day, while I was starting off from where I left, he came back. Asked another set of questions, then left. It happened for a few days or so, 'til he finally had the courage to ask me out on the sixth day." Johnson laughed wholeheartedly while Rodriguez and Walters just smirked.

"Oh man," the lieutenant stopped to catch his breath. "that must've annoyed the living hell out of you." Cortez just chuckled to signal his validation.

"Yeah, I thought he was just messing with me. I mean, I never really expected that he'd like me. Back at the _Hawking_, the guy got a reputation as being a heartthrob among the ladies." At that, Rodriguez smiled.

"I agree with that," the colonel said to them. "whenever Rob went to visit Therese at the clinic, the entire female staff there was practically drooling on their respective posts whenever he passed them by." By all definition, Robert was one handsome stud, his muscles practically chiseled, and he had that face where all girls would practically go through hell and back just to be with him. In other words, he was a god among men; so to speak. If he'd been straight, he'd have basically gotten all the ladies of Ferris Fields by now. Fortunately for them, the guy's tastes went the other way.

"So, I dated the guy for about two years, but the regs against fraternization couldn't let us really be together." Cortez told them, going on further on his story. "And that's when we decided to resign our respective posts and settle down somewhere in the Terminus, where we could live the rest our lives together."

"That's really sweet and romantic." Walters told them without thinking, before realizing what he had just said. "If you're into that sort of thing, anyways." At this, Johnson made his counter-attack by mentioning he didn't know jack shit about girls, let alone romance. It made them laugh for a bit at the XO's expense, with the aforementioned person's gaze looking down on the ground in embarrassment. Again, Cortez went on despite the interruption.

"For a while, we had a hard time choosing which colony to settle. Horizon was a bit too crowded, and Freedom's Progress was too urban for our tastes," the pilot stopped to take another sip on his beer can. "but then we heard about this small colony that repelled an entire batarian invasion. And well, we figured this colony wasn't really too big, and it was safe enough, so here we are."

"Nine months later, and still kicking ass." Rodriguez joked, finally concluding the pilot's story. "Where is he now, anyways?"

"Where do you think?" Cortez asked him rhetorically. The young colonel just laughed. As always, he'd be with his wife. They were, in all respects, practically inseparable; with Therese, she was basically the little sister Robert never had. "Because of her, Rob's been talking about adopting a kid, lately."

"Really?" Walters asked him, joining in on the conversation. "You don't mind having a kid? It's a huge responsibility." Cortez started scratching his chin, signifying that he was in deep thought on the matter.

"Yeah, sure, I mean, the only problem is that I really don't have any clue as to how to raise a kid, you know?" And to that, the colonel just grunted.

"And you think I do?" Rodriguez just let out a bellowing laugh. "Steve, nobody ever knows how to raise a child until they actually have one. As for me? Well…" The colonel up-ended his can until it was empty and threw into a nearby garbage-bin Johnson had setup earlier when he went for the beer cooler. "I just hope to God that I'm not going to screw this up."

"Amen to that, Henry." Cortez agreed to his statement. "Anyways, thanks for the beer, though. Not every day we get to drink on the job." With that, everyone let out a laugh once again. After which, Rodriguez checked out his chrono, the time was already twenty-three minutes past 1300. Grabbing the nearby M8 Avenger he had placed on the ground earlier, he motioned for Walters to alert the ground crew about their already late departure and for Johnson to grab the cooler and the trash bin.

They were supposed to leave twenty-three minutes ago, but since they had such a good stint, the colonel completely lost track of time. Still, it was worth it anyways. After all, he was the militia's overall commander; a few minutes off from the regimental time-table could easily be altered in their favor once they get back to the command post.

Steve was already tinkering with his datapad, doing last-minute calibrations on the LADAR tower's communication relays to see if it had been properly aligned. Accessing the installation, he let it do a test scan of the vast area for about two seconds, then observed the readings being transmitted back to the CP in less than twenty microseconds. The ex-Alliance fighter jock smiled. It was all what the colonel needed to know that it had worked perfectly. Cortez looked up at him, his smile never wavering.

"Tell Overwatch that the colony's protective umbrella is now fully-operational, sir." The guy's enthusiasm was contagious, because the next thing Rodriguez knew, he was grinning wildly.

"Alright, I'll be sure to tell 'em." Walking away from the colony's head of construction and development, the colonel went to the UT-47 Kodiak transport, where Walters was already sitting on the shuttle's passenger compartment, fiddling with the holo-projector responsible for their link to the rest of the militia. The major saw him approach and gave him a quick nod, already reconfiguring the device in front of him so that by the time his commanding officer arrived, the uplink was finally established. _Good man, always thinking ahead. _The colonel thought to himself.

As Walters continued operating the holo-projector, his face froze to a scowl, and his fingers kept on dancing away on the holographic interface. Rodriguez noticed his executive officer's change in demeanor and decided to ask.

"Something wrong there, major?"

"They're not responding to my hails, sir." Walters answered back, his eyes and fingers still not leaving the holo-projector. Rodriguez wondered why the command post wasn't sending an acknowledgement. They were in contact about a few hours ago just before they landed here, and before that the connection seemed solid as ever. _What the hell is going on? _

"Alright, keep trying 'til you establish a connection, I'll be right back." The XO grunted in the affirmative and then the colonel was off as he exited the shuttle, heading outside to try and find Cortez to see if he can help out on this situation.

"What the hell is _that _thing!" someone from the ground crew shouted from the top of his lungs and pointed to something in the sky. Everyone turned to the direction the man was pointing at, even the colonel, and was rewarded with an odd sight. Something was entering the atmosphere, like a meteor burning in the sky, but this thing wasn't vaporizing like a meteor should. The thing they were seeing was _massive_, that's for damn sure. And he couldn't quite make it out. Grabbing his foldable photonic image magnifier from one of his hardsuit's compartments, Rodriguez brought the futuristic binoculars to his eyes and waited for the thing to get a detailed visual. A moment later, his blood ran cold.

It was a ship, its entire hull was composed of multiple pieces of huge rocks, spanning to about five hundred to seven hundred meters, and its superstructure was made of several metallic edifices that were protruding near a circular thing that was enclosing a part of the ship near the engines. There weren't any visible markers bearing which sovereign state or species the ship belonged to, and its profile and composition weren't anything the colonel had seen before on the extranet. It was a complete unknown, and now it was speeding over the expanse of the Bonanza Mountains and were heading straight into—

_Oh God, no! _Those bastards were heading west, right into Ferris Fields! Beyond those mountain ranges, the colony was somewhere behind it, just a few hundred klicks away from the west. Without any further hesitation, Rodriguez yelled for everyone to board the shuttle immediately and to double-time it. Everyone outside hadn't wavered or paused in any way, but they responded almost instantaneously and snapped into action, grabbing whatever tools, weapons and other equipment they had and were running at the shuttle posthaste. Once inside, everyone on board was starting to buckle up, strapping themselves in and were awaiting any further orders from their commander, who was now in the cockpit conversing with the pilot.

"ETA to the colony?" Rodriguez asked Cortez, where the ex-Alliance fighter jock was now strapping himself in and prepping the shuttle's pre-flight checklist on the holographic interface in front of him.

"At best speed, about ten to twenty-five minutes, depending on the wind conditions." Cortez calmly replied as his fingers began dancing away on the controls. The soft-whine of the engines were starting to turn into a deafening roar as the pilot fed more power to it to quickly bring them into life. Rodriguez nodded and turned around, quickly taking a seat beside his XO and strapping himself in with the overhead guard. "Hold on, gentlemen. This is gonna be one tough ride." The pilot reminded all of them. The four thrusters underneath sprang to life and lifted the lumbering transport in the air for about a few seconds or so, after which the colonel could feel the Kodiak lurch forward as Cortez expertly countered the transport's bulky mass with use of its substantial element zero core, achieving lift and forward velocity.

Facing the occupant beside him, the regimental CO watched as Major Adrian Walters still kept on trying to contact the rest of the militia. And like earlier, he wasn't getting any progress, which was confirmed by a couple of curse words on the XO's part.

"Still nothing?" Rodriguez asked. Walters just shook his head fervently.

"Negative, I don't know what the hell's causing their—wait!" A flash of dense activity was shown on the holo-projector, followed by a series of random numbers and phrases which the colonel didn't have time to understand, but next to him, it made the major excited and his efforts on the device redoubled. "Something's jamming their end of the spectrum, sir." Walters informed him. "And it's definitely heavy."

"Estimated time 'til burn through?" Rodriguez asked.

"Unknown, their jammers are unlike anything I've ever seen before, sir. It's like millions of tiny dots converging on the entire colony, instead of a single massive one that's usually standard in these kinds of operations. And with that, I can't pinpoint the source and initiate burn through, sir."

"Damn it." The colonel swore, whoever the hell these guys were, they were good. And they were already winning. _Fuckers. _"Can you try to reaching them with the UHF band?"

"I can try, but only for a few seconds, sir." Walters explained to him. "Once the signal bounces off from the comm satellite in orbit and relays it back to the transmitter in the cee-pee, the enemy might track it and close in on the signal's source. Which is us. Like I said, best I can give you is just about ten seconds, fifteen if we're lucky."

"Do it." Rodriguez swiftly ordered with finality. The major gave out a quick nod before he went on with reconfiguring with the holo-projector to achieve its necessary task. A few seconds later, he was finished, and was rewarded with the sounds of heavy fire, followed by the cries of various men as they battle their unknown foe.

"—_they just took Ocampo! Those bugs just plucked him out of fuckin' thin air!"_

"—_repeat, Ferris Three is completely combat ineffective, most of my companies are fuckin' decimated and I'm down to my last platoon and—"_

"—_left side, left side! Shoot 'em, goddamn it! Wait…what the hell is that thing? Oh God, nooooo!" _A loud, ungodly shriek was heard, followed by the dying screams of several men being engulfed in a roaring explosion, after which the line went dead and spewed nothing but static. Rodriguez checked his chrono, the line's total run time hadn't even reached seven seconds, and they haven't even had the opportunity to contact them yet. _Fuck. _he swore to himself. _Those bastards work fast. _

"We've got contacts!" Cortez shouted over from the cockpit. "Unknown hostiles, coming in fast!"

"Lose 'em!" The colonel ordered, which the pilot quickly complied by executing evasive maneuvers, starting with banking the shuttle heavily to the left to initiate an insane barrel roll. Rodriguez closed his eyes as Cortez kept doing what he did best for the better part of about a few minutes, dodging a few close calls with their unknown assailants with a nose dive here, or sometimes a loop-de-loop there, making several faces of the passengers inside green with nausea, and some were already clutching their mouths, almost unable to hold it in anymore. In another time, the sight of them losing their breakfasts would've been amusing, but now, all of them inside prayed to God that they wouldn't blow. The last thing everyone needed right now was to be swimming in someone else's puke.

Without anything left to do, Rodriguez activated the view screen next to him and set the cameras on the shuttle's rear to be directed there. Moments later, he saw two objects chasing them in hot pursuit, their front areas were glowing red orbs that just kept on glowing with sheer intensity until he saw it discharged some sort of laser towards them. Apparently, Cortez saw the same thing, because the next thing he knew, the transport banked heavily to the right to avoid the incoming fire.

Whatever the hell was chasing them was small, nimble, and definitely hostile, whose choice of weaponry happened to be directed energy weapons, and a single hit from one of those could completely take them out; seeing as though kinetic barriers were designed to absorb damage from projectiles coming at high velocities, not high-energy lasers. _No wonder Cortez is dodging like hell_.

One of the enemy drones takes another shot, and this time, the sheer luck that was keeping them alive earlier had failed them now. An explosion on the port side hull of the shuttle was clearly heard, followed by the Kodiak completely taking a dive and spinning out of control, with Cortez letting loose a few curse words as he struggled to regain control of his transport.

"Port-side inertia dampening coil's been knocked offline!" The pilot screamed over the sounds of wailing system alarms on his console. "Flight's profile's been compromised, I'm losing attitude control, everybody hold on!"

The alarms on the shuttle kept on bawling as the doomed UT-47 spun out of control and was quickly losing most of its precious altitude. With its airspeed slightly increasing due to the eezo core's fluctuations, the transport's ability to lower or raise the transport's mass was now severely compromised. Death grew closer at every step as time went past, but Cortez managed to pull the Kodiak's nose at the last minute, bleeding off a critical amount of forward momentum at the right moment that managed to slow down their already precarious descent. But still, a few seconds later, they hit the ground hard. And everyone's visions went black after that.

* * *

Rodriguez groaned as he weakly opened his eyes. His head was pounding heavily and he knew it would get worse at each passing minute. But he couldn't do anything about it, for now he had to focus on staying alive. As he surveyed his surrounding, he saw that the shuttle's interior was bathed completely in blinking red, probably from the emergency lights that were pulsating throughout the passenger compartment. He was still attached to his overhead guard, and he slowly lifted it up above his head and stood to head towards the cockpit, his shoulders were killing him, they'd bruise later from the transport's not-so-stellar impact.

All around him, everyone was rousing into consciousness. And like him earlier, were starting to recover. Fortunately for them, nobody was seriously hurt. As he neared the cockpit, he saw Cortez slowly start to get up from his slump on the controls and was clutching his head, probably suffering from the same killer headache as he was.

"You okay?" The colonel asked him.

"Yeah," Cortez responded wearily. "I'm fine."

"How bad is it?" Rodriguez decided to skip the pleasantries, for now, he wanted to ascertain if the only thing getting them home was still working. Cortez tapped away his fingers on the controls to do a systems check on the Kodiak's operational capability, and was rewarded with results a few moments later.

"The shot knocked out the rear port-side thruster's inertia dampening coil, I've got to go outside and reset it."

"Alright," The young colonel nodded "we're comin' with you; give us a few seconds to prep." With that, Rodriguez turned around and went to the passenger compartment, grabbing his helmet and attaching it to his hardsuit, completely enclosing his head with a protective, dual-layered shell of fabric armor and kinetic padding within a light ablative ceramic casing. His heads-up display came to life on the thin visor slit on his eyes, which showed him anything related to communications, navigation, battlefield awareness, and weapon targeting.

"What's the plan, sir?" Rodriguez looked up to see that Walters already had his helmet on, and the others were in the process of putting theirs.

"Cortez is going to try and fix the shuttle, we're going to make sure he succeeds."

"Sounds like a plan, sir." Walters said to him while reaching for an M8 Avenger and passing it on to his CO, which happily obliged and took it.

"Alright, listen up!" Everyone on the shuttle's passenger compartment looked up from whatever it was they were doing and perked their ears up to hear what their commander had to say. "Once we go outside, I want all of you to establish a defensive perimeter around Cortez and the shuttle. Walters, take—" he looked at his HUD for the names of some of the ground crew from their IFF tags "—Suzumi, Novachek, and Pearsons and set up on the northwestern approach."

"Understood, sir." The major gave him a quick, sharp nod.

"I'll take what's left of the others and set up shop on the southeastern approach. Any questions?" He looked at each of them to see if they had any thoughts on the matter. Seeing none, he proceeded to open the—

"Wait, I have a question." A southern-accented twang from one of the people on the shuttle's compartment rang out. _Oh, for the love of God…_

"Yes, lieutenant? What is it?" Rodriguez asked him curtly as he proceeded to take a few grenades out of the shuttle's equipment compartment.

"Where am I during all this, sir?" Johnson asked him. _Oh, right…_

"You'll be guarding Cortez while he fixes the shuttle." The colonel simply told him. The lieutenant's eyes narrowed.

"But colonel—!" The armored cavalryman started to protest, but his CO cut him off.

"No buts, Albert! That's an order." The southerner cringed with the use of his full given name, and proceeded to calm down by exhaling loudly.

"Yes sir."

"Alright," Rodriguez decided to do one last equipment check before heading out. Once he was done, he faced the young private near the shuttle's door controls. "Hadley, pop the hatch." The militiamen gave him a nod before pressing the giant button. Moments later, the distinct pneumatic-hiss was clearly heard as the port-side door opens ever so slowly. The light from the outside was searing bright, but his helmet's filters automatically compensated for it.

With the door fully opened, he could finally see the area where they had decided to park. They were in the summit of one of the lush green hills that surrounded the Ivory Valley, which was just a few blocks away from where they were situated. Stepping out, Rodriguez could hear the soft crunch of the grass as his boots made landfall. Brining his weapon to bear, he scanned the area for any nearby hostiles that had camped outside during their brief time being unconscious, and he circled the downed Kodiak once to see if there was anything out of the ordinary, just to be sure. Seeing none, he signaled for the rest of the group to disembark and setup defensive positions.

Cortez was already hard at work, removing the access panels in one of the shuttle's directional thrusters and was using an arc welder to repair anything that was out of place; guarding him nearby was Johnson, who was just a few steps away, his Avenger cradled carefully in his arms.

A few meters away from them, Walters was already ordering his men to go around the downed transport, bringing with them spare thermal clips and grenades to set up on their pre-destined locations. Rodriguez was on his way to doing the same thing on the southeastern part of the Kodiak, putting some distance away from the shuttle. His two companions were following him quickly, their weapons fully locked and loaded. After crouch-sprinting for the better part of a few seconds or so, they had already covered about a few dozen meters, just enough distance from them and the transport.

Ahead of them, the colonel saw some sort of natural shrubbery, which was a few meters high. It was perfect for concealment and providing cover. Sensing the opportunity, he gestured for his men to hide in it, while he racked the arming bolt on his assault rifle, to which he was rewarded with a pulsating whine; signifying that his weapon was now ready to fire. All they had to do now was wait. If they were lucky, they wouldn't even have to engage anything while Cortez did his thing.

Checking his chrono, Rodriguez saw that five minutes had already passed since their departure from the LADAR installation. Not a lot of travel time for them, which meant that they hadn't really covered a lot of ground from there to Ferris Fields; which also meant that he could practically be light years away from the colony and his wife. _Damn it! God, please…keep her safe. _He thought to himself, gripping the pistol grip on his rifle even harder.

"_I've got contacts here, sir._" His radio squawked with Major Walters' voice.

"What is it?" He spoke to his helmet's built-in comm link.

"_Unknown, wait…Let me take a look._" The voice on the other end paused for a few seconds or so, then returned. "_They look like humanoid…bugs, sir._"

"Say again, major?" Rodriguez asked his subordinate again, making sure if he really was hearing him right.

"_Bugs with two legs and wings, carrying a weird looking rifle in their hands, sir._" Walters informed him matter-of-factly. "_They're just flying their way towards here, engagement imminent._" A few seconds later, the sounds of gunfire were heard on the radio and on his helmet's auditory receptors, the distinct canvas-rip, fully-automatic firing of the Avengers clearly noticeable, followed by the sound of Walters yelling on the comm line inside his helmet.

"_Give it everything you've got!" _A burst from the Avenger was heard, which was preceded by something shrieking, which he assumed was one of the creature's death throes. "_Colonel, I'll get comms with you once we deal with these hostiles. Walters out._"

"Sir!" Rodriguez looked up, to see Private Hadley pointing at something in the sky. Squinting his eyes, the colonel could see several figures approaching towards them in fast speeds. As they went nearer and nearer, he could start making out the finer details on the hostile's appearance.

They looked like human-sized bipedal insects with a chitinous exoskeleton, four glowing eyes, and a distinct, large, tapering head, along with fully developed wings that they were now using to great effect. It wasn't long till they finally converged on their position, raining down rounds over their heads with deadly accuracy. Rodriguez hit the deck, followed by Hadley and another militiaman whose name the colonel hadn't known yet.

They kept their fire for about a few moments or so, until their weapons started to vent off their excess heat, while making their landing a few dozen meters away from the colonel and his team. Seizing the chance, he stood up from his cover and pulled the trigger on his assault rifle.

The constant stream of hyper-accelerated tungsten slugs from his Avenger connected with a lone hostile, hitting the area between the neck and the lower head. It went limp two seconds later, missing a huge chunk of its jaw and what was left of his bloating neck. Next to him, Hadley and the other soldier, whose IFF tag indicated his name as Alekseyev, followed his example by opening up on them. Their rounds struck home and downed a pair of enemy bugs.

With their weapons finally free of excess heat, the enemy biped insects opened fire once again, forcing the three of them to take cover. Rodriguez pulled on the arming bolt on his assault rifle to eject the spent thermal clip, the sizzling red and silver disposable heat sink falling to the ground as the colonel replaced it with a fresh one.

Again, the enemies' weapons started to vent, and on cue, the three of them rose from their cover and pulled the triggers of their respective rifles. The volley from their Avengers managed to incapacitate a few more hostiles, but it wasn't enough, and Rodriguez decided to take it up a notch. Grabbing an M99 HE-DP grenade from his utility harness, he armed it to detonate on impact, which confirmed the order with a pulsating beep. Rearing his hand back, he lobbed the cylindrical explosive over at the approaching enemy force.

A cloud of greasy black and yellow smoke, followed by the roar of the explosive blast engulfed the enemy's position, with some limbs carelessly flying through the air. The weird thing was, there weren't any blood present by the time those torn appendages made landfall, but it wasn't important. For now, he had to focus. He and the rest of his fire team had already taken out about fourteen of those insectoid bastards, and more were heading their way. He saw one of them emerge from the smoke, just calmly walking past it like it nothing happened, its purpose never wavering. _We'll see about that. _He thought. Shouldering the stock of his M8, he set the red dot sight on the hostile's head and let loose one long burst. It dropped dead completely a few moments later, its feet still twitching, but other than that it was absolutely and utterly dead.

For the next ten minutes, the three of them held the line. There were a few times were the enemy almost gained the upper hand, but a few bursts of rifle fire here or a single well placed grenade there soon changed that. Rodriguez replaced another thermal clip on his rifle, just about downing his tenth straight kill when his radio crackled to life.

"_Sir!_" The voice of Lieutenant Johnson rang in his helmet's speakers. "_We got us a situation here!"_

"Can't it wait?" Rodriguez replied while firing off another burst at an approaching hostile, shearing one of its legs with a well-placed burst on the groin. "I'm a bit busy here, lieutenant." He finished off the target with a round to the head.

"_It can't! We're taking heavy fire here, I'm down to my last two clips on my rifle and Cortez can't fix shit if these bastards keep on shooting at us."_

"Fuck." The colonel swore, letting loose another long burst at an approaching target. "Alright, I'm sending someone over." Switching frequencies, he chose what he wanted and opened up a line. "Major Walters, status."

"_They're advancing in heavy force here, sir._" A few bursts of rifle were heard, followed by a grenade going off."_We can't take any more of this much longer._"

"Pull back to the shuttle, assist Cortez and Johnson in any way you can, how copy?"

"_Solid copy on all, Walters out._" With that, the connection was terminated. The enemy still kept on pushing forward with their advance, like an endless wave from the ocean, which was completely infinite and never ending.

"Contact rear!" Alekseyev yelled. Rodriguez spun a complete one-eighty, with his rifle in hand, spotting three hostiles trying to sneak up on them, their organic looking rifles already opening up. Several rounds exploded around their position, with dirt gushing out as the metallic enamel-looking pellets smashed throughout their surrounding area. Hadley and Rodriguez immediately took cover, but the other militiaman wasn't so lucky.

A constant barrage of rifle fire peppered Alekseyev's hardsuit, and his kinetic barriers flashed into existence. But the enemy's constant stream of ammo drained them completely after a few seconds worth of sustained fire. Several rounds punctured the poor kid's suits, with the doomed militiaman screaming as he got thrown back from the bullets' impact.

Rodriguez rose from his cover and expertly let loose a couple of long bursts to each of the hostiles' bulbous heads, killing them instantly. Next to him, Hadley sprang into action, going near the shot up body of his comrade, who was now lying on the ground bleeding from several wounds in the abdomen.

"Aleksi!" The young private quickly activated his omni-tool to do a fast medical scan on his friend's injuries. A few seconds later followed by a beep, he was shown the severity of the militiaman's wounds: his liver and lungs were already perforated from a dozen different places, and his stomach was leaking gastric acid, courtesy of a well-placed rifle round that landed there.

The colonel let loose another burst at another approaching hostile, taking him out of the fight. His M8 Avenger assault rifle suddenly began beeping frantically, where the three diagonal red stripes that were above the trigger started pulsating with a dangerous red. Once again, his weapon's thermal clip was spent. _Goddamn it! _He mentally swore. That was the last one he had, and he passed on whatever spare clips he had left to Hadley and Alekseyev; where the latter was now gurgling crimson red liquid on his mouth, which was starting to seep slowly to the side.

_Poor bastard. _Throwing his spent rifle on the ground, he grabbed for his M3 Predator pistol and started shooting at the approaching targets who were now getting too dangerously close for comfort. Their advance being left unchecked as Hadley and Alekseyev paused their fire.

"We've gotta go, kid! Now!" Rodriguez yelled, grabbing Hadley's shoulder while firing a few rounds at this one particular hostile who was just a few meters away.

"No!" The young private defiantly screamed while escaping the colonel's grip on his shoulder. "I can still save him, sir!" Hadley grabbed a few medi-gel capsules on one of his hardsuit's compartments and applied it liberally to the dying militiaman's abdomen. Alekseyev was already starting to get dangerously pale, his skin was getting clammy and his eyes were starting to lose their luster. He was already a goner, and the medi-gel was only going to delay the inevitable for just a few more minutes. _Why the hell can't this kid see that?_

Grabbing unto the shoulder's kid once again, this time a bit too forcefully, Rodriguez looked into the kid's black eyes with his stern brown ones, seeing nothing but pure sadness in them. But the young colonel didn't have any choice left. "Listen, damn it! He. Is. Gone! And I'm sorry, I really am, but if we don't get outta here soon, we might as well join him. Is that clear?" Hadley looked away from him and stared at the ground, still unable to accept the fact that Alekseyev was gone. _Goddamn it. _He smacked the back of the kid's helmet and looked into his eyes once again. "Is. That. Clear?!"

"Yes sir." Private Hadley's response felt like a whisper, but at least the fact that his buddy was dead had already sunk in. Rodriguez hated himself for forcing the poor kid to make him realize that, but they were already in serious danger here, and survival took precedence above all else. Grabbing his last grenade on his utility harness, he gestured for the private to do the same, while arming his own with a proximity fuse.

"Okay, Hadley, when I give you the order, throw your grenade at them, okay?" The private nodded fervently while he armed his own grenade with a three-second fuse. The hostiles were slowly making their own way towards them, suppressing them with deadly, accurate rifle fire while pressing on with their advance; it wasn't long now till they were completely on top of them. "Now!"

The private reared his hand back and threw it in the general direction of the enemy presence, which happened to be just about fourteen meters away. The grenade went off and filled the area with deadly fragments, instantly killing four of the biped bugs. More were already taking the place of the downed hostiles, their onslaught still progressing.

"Go, get out here, now!" Rodriguez ordered. Hadley hadn't hesitated and pulled back towards the direction of the shuttle, firing his rifle along the way. Now alone, the colonel grabbed his grenade and burrowed it deep into the ground, the proximity fuse already armed, making anything that went to within two meters of this thing an instant barbecue. Grabbing his pistol, the regimental CO quickly ran towards the Kodiak's direction, his Predator opening up on a couple of targets. They didn't kill them or anything, but it somehow managed to throw off their aim somewhat, and he was completely fine with that.

He was completely sprinting now, the downed transport already within visual range. _I'm home free. _He happily thought. A loud explosion engulfed what was left of their former position, and Rodriguez smiled. _That sure showed them. _

A lone hostile bug landed unexpectedly in front of him, its heavy landing completely throwing Rodriguez off-guard, and he fell down instantly on his back, with his hands and legs quickly putting some distance away from that _thing. _The biped bug took one look at him with its four glowing eyes, taking a few more moments to observe him before its organic looking rifle took an aim towards his head.

_This is it. _The colonel's pistol was raised, trying to make one last desperate attempt to take down the bastard, but he knew it was completely futile now, and he waited for the eventual round that would permanently knock his lights out. Rodriguez closed his eyes and looked away, waiting for the inevitable—

—a loud bang was heard and the colonel cringed, expecting to be in heaven already and meeting Saint Peter on the Pearly Gates. But the sounds of battle still raged heavily, and he slowly started to open his eyes, which widened considerably after he saw what was in front of him a few moments later.

The lone hostile who got him cornered was now lying on its back, a small entrance wound right between its eyes, with another larger exit wound behind the base of his skull. _Who the hell took that shot? _He looked towards the direction of the shuttle, where he finally saw his one-time savior.

Major Walters was wielding a smoking M92 Mantis sniper rifle, with a smile planted on his face as he gave his CO a playful salute, right before going back to work to hunt for more hostiles. Next to him, Johnson was waving at him to get over there. Without any further hesitation, Rodriguez stood up and ran hard, arriving there a few seconds later.

"Never thought I'd see you slack off on the job, colonel." The lieutenant said to him once he took up position near the Kodiak's nose. "Thank God for Walters being a crack shot, otherwise we'd be saying goodbye to your sorry ass…sir."

"Any word on the repairs?" Rodriguez asked him curtly, completely ignoring Johnson's attempt on humor. He didn't have any time for that, plus the fact that he almost bought it earlier probably rattled the him for a little bit. The lieutenant just shrugged and replied.

"He's just finishing up, he'll be done momentarily." The colonel nodded to him before facing his XO

"Walters," Rodriguez asked him. "whose left on your fire team?" The major eye never left the scope, before firing a single round into the head of an unfortunate target.

"Novachek's dead, sir." The major said to him, his eye still on the Mantis's scope. "And Pearsons bleed out a few minutes ago."

"Damn it." Rodriguez swore out loud. With three of their number dead, there were only four of them left. And it still wasn't even enough. "We've got to get out of here."

"Cortez is done, sir!" Johnson yelled at him, his rifle aimed on the enemy's direction and was letting loose a few more rounds. _Right in the nick of time, too. _He thought to himself. Without any further indecision, the colonel breathed in and yelled at the top of his lungs.

"Alright, get your asses on board, all of you!" Rodriguez ordered. A few moments later, both of the Kodiak's side doors opened, and every single one of them piled inside. Going towards the cockpit, he saw Cortez tapping away on the controls, as usual. But not before seeing a nasty cut on one of his facial cheeks.

With single-minded focus, the ex-Alliance pilot punched on the throttle, completely surging forward without waiting for everyone to get themselves strapped in. The colonel just grabbed hold to one of the fire extinguishers near him to keep himself from falling off.

Behind him, he saw what was left of their little squad taking a breather, some of them not even bothering to take a seat on their chairs, just squatting on the passenger compartment's cold metal floor. The fight hadn't even lasted for about twenty minutes, and already it was taking a nasty toll on them. Rodriguez grimaced. He hadn't seen them like this since the failed batarian invasion attempt two years ago, and they barely even survived that onslaught. _Just like now. _He thought grimly.

As they continued putting some distance away from their temporary crash site, Rodriguez wondered how the colony was doing, the last transmission he had heard from them earlier wasn't exactly a beacon of good news, and it wasn't really assuring them anything on their loved ones safety. _God, I beg of you, please keep her safe…_

"What the hell…" Cortez said, his hands still dancing away on the shuttle control's holographic interface, while there was some incessant beeping being clearly heard. "I got an unknown transmission here, patching it through." There was some hoarse breathing on the other end of the line, followed by someone yelling something unintelligible and screaming hysterically. _What the hell…?_ For the first few seconds after opening up the broadcast, this was all they had heard. Cortez decided to take action on the matter.

"This is Ferris Six, is anyone out there?" Again, no one responded. The ambient screaming and hoarse breathing was the only thing getting heard. Rodriguez thought it was just a stray transmission, and was having some idea of cutting the channel when someone unexpected answered back on Cortez's hail.

"_Steve, is that you?"_


	11. Final Goodbyes

**A/N:**

**HEY GUYS! SORRY FOR THE LATE UPDATE, HAD A BIT OF WRITER'S BLOCK ON HOW TO CLOSE THIS PARTICULAR CHAPTER. BUT DON'T WORRY, FINALLY GOT TO FINISH IT. ENJOY! :)**

* * *

**January 15****th**** 2185 C.E.**

**Ferris Fields outskirts / somewhere above the Ivory Valley**

"Robert!" Both Rodriguez and Cortez answered back in unison, but it was the latter who continued on in the conversation.

"Are you alright? Where are you? Are you safe? What's—" the ex-Alliance pilot kept on rambling before Robert cut him off on the other end of the line.

"_I'm fine, Steve_." The man assured him with a soothing tone. "_Those aliens haven't found us yet, but they're giving the colony hell_."

"Us?" Rodriguez decided to join in on the conversation, the immense worry he had for his home having tripled after Robert's revelation.

"_Yeah, I'm with Therese right now, we managed to get out of the clinic, with the help of a militia company that was setting up just outside where we were_." And just like that, the colonel sighed greatly with pure relief, not knowing that he was holding his breath the entire time while he was listening in. All the worry and stress that was building up inside of him earlier was now completely and utterly gone. _Thank you Jesus, thank you Lord, thank you, thank you…_He mentally thanked the Almighty with every grateful gesture he could think of. That lasted for about a minute. For now, with his wife safe for the meantime, he had to focus on what just happened to Ferris Fields.

"Thank God." the young colonel said on the radio, just adding a bit more further praise to the Big Guy upstairs before heading straight into business. "Rob, what the hell's going on? Why can't we contact the rest of the militia?"

"_I don't know exactly_," Robert began explaining to them. "_but I bet it has something to do with those swarms of tiny little insects that are overrunning the rest of the colony._"

"What?" Rodriguez asked him, a bit confused to where this was leading. "What the hell's that got to do with the communications blackout? And more importantly, why can we still talk to you on a normal frequency when I can barely contact my regiment on a secure one?"

"_We'll get to that,_" Robert guaranteed to him. "_but those tiny insects I just mentioned earlier? They're completely bad news._"

"Why is that?" Cortez inquired while his hands were still on the shuttle controls.

"_Their stinging everyone they can get their hands on with some sort of paralytic compound, completely immobilizing its victims. After which, the bigger four-eyed bugs stuffs them in some sort of pod, and they've already taken some of the colonists into their huge ship that's hovering just above the center of the colony._"

"Son of a bitch." The colonel quietly swore. "Rob, what about the militia? I heard some heavy fighting earlier but why can't I hear them fighting back anymore?" He could hear Robert sigh sadly on the other end of the line. He already could tell he wasn't going to like what he was going to hear.

"_They're gone, Henry._" The man said softly on the comm line. "_Everyone that's still inside Ferris Fields is gone._" Rodriguez laid his head low, still struggling with the fact that over eighteen thousand men, woman and children were never going to see tomorrow again, and were now completely lost to their unknown enemy. _Holy Mother of God. _He solemnly thought to himself. _An entire colonial settlement gone, just like that._ Focusing whatever willpower he had left in him, the young colonel placed his already mounting guilt and remorse to a dark corner of his mind and focused to the task at hand. Right now, they still had two people out there in need of rescue, and he was going to make sure he was going to do just that without his personal feelings in the way. He knew they were going to come back and haunt him sooner or later.

"Okay, Robert, what's your position? And again, why can we still talk to you on an unsecured line?"

"_We're just outside the colony's eastern outskirts, on the hill overlooking the rest of Ferris Fields; we're putting some distance away from them._" The colonel could hear the man panting tiredly as he paused to catch his breath. "_As for the miraculous connection, I'm guessing the farther away we are from those tiny bugs, the better._" Robert let out a tired laugh after that."_Thank Christ I actually got that one right._"

"No kidding. Now Rob, listen here real quick." Rodriguez said to the radio sternly. "Avoid enemy contact at all costs, we're comin' to you, alright?"

"_You got it, Henry. Don't take too long now, you hear? Over and out._" And with that, the link was disconnected. The colonel faced the ex-Alliance fighter jock.

"How long till we reach them?"

"ETA, seven minutes and forty-five seconds." Cortez calmly said to him, his laser-like focus and determination never wavering as he coolly struggled to control his damaged shuttle. The thought of Robert in grave danger must've made him realize that a single mistake from him could cost the man he loved his life, and Rodriguez wasn't about to disturb him out of his steely resolve. It all depended on their skilled pilot now, and the colonel hoped to God that their somewhat precarious luck would somehow still hold.

He turned around and went straight into the Kodiak's passenger compartment, where the four other survivors were now in their seats, the wounded personnel nursing whatever injuries they had received from the battle earlier with tender, loving care. He saw Suzumi examining his right shoulder, where he said it got struck with a high-velocity rifle round that went cleanly through his hardsuit's armor, and next to him, Johnson was swabbing some antiseptic on Walters' neck, the XO was hissing out in pain and was struggling every time the southerner tried to treat the wound.

"Damn it, stop moving!" The armored cavalryman hissed out in frustration. "You're not exactly helping out here." The executive officer just muttered something unintelligible under his breath and proceeded to keep his mouth shut while trying his best not to wince every time the antiseptic made contact with the graze on his neck. So far, he wasn't succeeding.

Next to the struggling pair was Private Hadley, who was just slumping in his seat, his hands slowly gripping the overhead guard that was clinging to his chest. He had a withdrawn look on his face, his eyes gazing out far ahead, focusing out of nothing in particular. Rodriguez knew that look all too well. The infamous thousand-yard stare.

Nearing the young militiaman, the colonel sat next to him, where the private was still totally oblivious to his presence. "Private?" Rodriguez said to the kid, his eyes focusing on the younger man in front of him. The kid's medium-grade hardsuit was practically filled with specks of dirt, blood and bullet grazes that nicked several areas of his suit. Dents where all over, and the paint that was once immaculately spread all over, was now nothing more than a shabby coat of scratches and scuff marks.

This kid had been through hell, and losing his close friend probably only made it worse. "George?" The colonel said to him again, this time slightly shaking his shoulder to get his attention. It worked, and the private broke out of his momentary daze, slowly facing him. What he saw in Hadley's eyes was completely heartbreaking, seeing nothing more in there than complete and utter sadness, mixed with a little hopelessness and defeat. The poor bastard was probably still reeling from the loss of his buddy, and the fact that they had to leave him behind still troubled Rodriguez greatly. "You okay, buddy?"

Hadley just sat there, staring at him for just a few more seconds before he started to nod slowly, and then looked away. Sensing that it was probably all he could get out of him, the colonel just sighed worriedly, patting the poor kid's back before standing up and headed towards his XO. Not everyone was cut out to be soldiers, and once they do actually experience combat first hand, it'd definitely change you; either for the best, which would make you harden your resolve in the face of constant danger, or for the worse, which would most definitely leave you traumatized and scarred for the rest of your life. As for the young private, Rodriguez appraised that it most certainly did have an impact on the militiaman's mental well-being, and he had hoped that it wouldn't affect the seventeen year-old for as long as he lived.

"You alright there, sir?" Walters asked him, breaking him out of his thoughts. Facing him, he saw his executive officer clutching a makeshift bandage on his neck, which was laced with what little medi-gel they had left. Taking a seat next to him, Rodriguez just willed himself to relax, but for now, it definitely wasn't working.

"Yeah, I'm fine, major." The colonel answered back softly. "Just a bit worried about Hadley, that's all."

"We all are, sir." The major said to him. "Losing Private Alekseyev took quite a toll on him, and he's been like that ever since he came back from the firefight you guys were in." Rodriguez took another gaze in Hadley's direction, still seeing the kid in his somewhat endless looking thousand-yard stare.

"Kid's been through a lot lately." Rodriguez agreed with the man. "And he's already exhibiting signs of combat stress reaction."

"What? What're you talking about?" Walters asked in a curious tone.

"Look at him, he's fatigued, has a slow reaction time, and is disconnected from his nearby surroundings. He's got all the symptoms, Adrian." The major couldn't help but agree to his commanding officer's assessment on the man in question. Combat stress reaction was generally a short-term ailment, but if he was still generally exposed to other traumatizing stimuli, it would practically lead to other long-term psychological problems, like acute stress disorder or PTSD. Either of which was certainly not going to be good in the long run.

"Yeah, I guess you're right." The major conceded. "According to Corporal Suzumi, Hadley and Alekseyev were real close, both of them signed up for Basic at the same time, and before that they've known each other for three years. Must be hell on his part." Walters said the last sentence almost like a whisper, and had added a bit more emotion into it than he should have. The colonel could only guess that his XO could probably relate to the younger militiaman's situation. And with that, Rodriguez just grunted in agreement, not exactly knowing what else to say, other than thinking just how unfair life was to people like Walters, Hadley, and the rest of the colonists back at Ferris Fields.

_What exactly did we do to deserve this kind of punishment? _The colonel asked himself in his thoughts. His entire regiment, the colony, everyone he knew, gone in less than thirty minutes. How was that even possible?

Closing his eyes, Rodriguez once again focused on his efforts to relax, trying to gather all of his thoughts on what to do next. If ever they'd somehow manage to miraculously survive this onslaught and escape, he absolutely had no idea on where to go.

A slight beeping sound was heard, forcing the colonel to open his eyes and put a stop on his mind's rampant thoughts. Near him, the once inactive holo-projector sprang to life again, and Rodriguez focused his gaze on its holographic circular interface, which was showing streams of unidentified sensor data, scattered information packets, and an unidentified presence hacking into Ferris Fields colonial mainframe and—_wait, what?! _Rubbing both of his tired eyes to ascertain if he was seeing it right, he looked at it again, trying to make sure if his mind wasn't any playing tricks on him. It was still there. And according to the projections, it showed no signs of stopping anytime soon.

Next to him, Major Walters was taking a quick nap, completely oblivious to the situation at hand. He decided to fix that.

"Major," Rodriguez shook his XO's shoulder. "wake up." The man instantly woke up from his touch and faced his commanding officer, his eyes a bit bloodshot and tired. "Take a look at this."

Walters grunted in the affirmative, stretching his arms and his fingers before manning the holo-projector once more. His brows furrowed as his fingers expertly ran through the complex operating systems to make sense of why they were trying to access the colony's mainframe. It took him about a few seconds before he was rewarded with the results, and after seeing it first-hand, the major's tired eyes widened considerably while his hands slightly shook.

"What is it?" The colonel asked him worriedly.

"They're deleting everything," The major replied softly. "sensor logs, camera footage, atmospheric data, LADAR readings, everything. It's like they're completely covering their tracks." Rodriguez just sat there, his own eyes widening with shock, as he was stunned at the revelation. _You've got to be fucking kidding me. _Without the mainframe's databanks that were filled with the unidentified hostile race's recorded actions, they had no proof whatsoever to show to the Alliance or the Citadel Council on what had happened here. And even if they went ahead and explained everything without any clear evidence, the higher-ups would just probably laugh at them and dismiss their claims. And that was completely and utterly unacceptable, and the colonel knew it. He regained his composure and decided to do something about it.

"What about our helmet's vid-cams?" Rodriguez asked. "Don't they run on a separate system?"

"Uh, lemme take a look…" Walters fingers danced on the device for a few moments or so before responding. "Yeah, I guess that can work. Our hardsuit's miniframes hasn't been compromised yet and—what the hell?!" The major suddenly swore as the holo-projector's glowing interface shifted away from its original calming orange to a dangerous crimson red. "Oh, you've gotta be fuckin' kidding me!"

"What just happened?"

"Bastards just uploaded a virus on our miniframes' wireless networks," The XO angrily explained as he kept on operating the device. "they've wiped out the databanks clean. There's nothing left and—" Without warning, the holo-projector's interface suddenly began sputtering, turning off and on unpredictably for about a few seconds before it completely shut down. Walters just let out a defeated sigh. "Their goes our holo-projector."

"_Goddamn it!_" Rodriguez swore at the top of his lungs before furiously throwing his combat helmet to the shuttle's metal floor. Everyone inside the passenger compartment flinched. For all the years they've known their commanding officer, not once had they seen him lose his cool, calm persona.

Still seated, the colonel rested his elbows on his legs as his hands covered most of his face. This feeling of utter helplessness was something he had only experienced once before, and that was the time during his supposedly last stand on Scarborough Shoal a century and half ago, as he took that rifle burst from the Chinese rifleman he'd killed. He never did really think about it too much, and when he did, he tried his best to forget about the old life he left behind, where there was practically nothing left for him to live for.

He was here now, he had said to himself that day when Knowles helped him up on his feet, and he had a new purpose in life to protect these people, a chance to start over. But right now though, he could only feel the sad and painful consequences of defeat as he had failed every single one of them; his regiment, the civilians that resided on Ferris Fields, everyone. They were all lost, with those bastards doing God-knows-what with them and not knowing why they even did this in the first place. _Keep it together, Henry. _He told himself. He had to stay focused, for everyone's sakes.

"Uh, colonel…?" The voice of First Lieutenant Johnson pierced through his thoughts and sudden melancholy.

"What is it, Albert?" The colonel responded weakly to his subordinate, his hands still covering his face.

"You, uh, really need to see this, sir." The lieutenant answered him back; the officer's insistence clearly noted on his voice.

"Oh, for Christ's sake…" Lowering his hands down, Rodriguez was just about to give the southern armored officer a piece of his mind before his eyes caught the object of everyone's interest in the passenger compartment. The holo-projector, that one he thought was completely inoperable earlier, was now activated once again. And instead of projecting the usual circular holographic control interface, it was showing all of them a floating object, resembling some sort of cuttlefish or squid, with a bulky semi-cylindrical body and tapering plate over the rear, and five tentacle-like limbs extending from its front end. In addition to six jointed legs extending from its body, the rear-most of the larger legs seemed to have crescent-shaped extensions.

"What. The. Hell…?" Suzumi slowly thought out loud, his eyes never leaving the unknown holographic object in front of them. Suddenly, the thing spoke, its deep, thunderous voice broadcasting on the shuttle's PA system, on everyone's helmet radios, comm links; basically on every audio emitting device it could find.

"_**WE ARE THE HARBINGER OF YOUR ASCENDANCE.**_"

Everyone onboard the Kodiak jumped on their seats, with the people on the shuttle's passenger compartment not looking away on the floating squid, whose form was still being broadcasted by the commandeered holo-projector.

Rodriguez had to admit, the floating bastard really was scary looking, and the fact that its deep voice was so ominously announced on every one of their comms wasn't exactly helping everyone calm down, even after that thing's sudden appearance. Whoever these bastards were, they absolutely meant business, and were completely meticulous in their assault on Ferris Fields. _What the hell do these guys want? _Taking a deep breath, the colonel decided to talk with it.

"Who the hell are you? Why are you doing this?"

"_**WE ARE YOUR GENETIC DESTINY,**_" The thing's deep voice hijacked everyone's comm systems again. "_**YOU DO NOT YET COMPREHEND YOUR PLACE IN THINGS.**_"

"What place? What the fuck are you talking about?"

"_**WE ARE THE HARBINGER OF YOUR PERFECTION.**_" The floating squid continued on cryptically, completely ignoring the colonel's questions. "_**YOU ARE IGNORANT, WE ARE KNOWING. YOU HAVE MERELY DELAYED THE INEVITA**_—"

The holo-projector exploded in a shower of sparks as Rodriguez blew it apart with three rounds from his M3 Predator sidearm, completely cutting off whatever the sanctimonious bastard had to say. He had half-expected for the thing to keep on rambling even after he shot the projector, but was surprised and somewhat thankful that it had decided to shut up even though it still had access to their comms. _Maybe the annoying SOB got the message…_He gave out a small smile on that thought.

"Colonel!" Cortez voice rang out from the shuttle's cockpit. "We've got company!" Opening up on his omni-tool, Rodriguez quickly accessed the shuttle's rear cameras and programmed it to display its live feed on the view screen beside them once again. After it showed them whatever it was that was chasing them, the colonel's shoulders droop down as he sighed tiredly. _You have got to be kidding me…_

Those floating red orb-things had finally come back, and this time, there were about a dozen of them now. Without any hesitation, they quickly fired off their dangerous volley, each of the red lasers patiently trying to connect with the highly-evasive shuttle. As he saw those persistent fighters close in on for the kill, Rodriguez stood up from his seat and decided to head for the cockpit.

"Damn it." He heard the ex-Alliance pilot swear softly once he arrived there a few moments later, holding on to one of the overheard handles to keep himself from being thrown about by Cortez's crazy maneuvers.

"Can't you go around them?" The colonel asked him.

"No," The pilot replied, his face starting to sweat heavily from the combined stress of flying an already difficult spacecraft and the fact that the crash-landing earlier probably only made the task worse enough as it is. "the only way through Robert and Therese is past these guys."

"Bastards." Rodriguez quietly swore through his gritted teeth. It was painfully obvious that these things were happy to oblige in making their lives extremely difficult, even though they've already won by abducting the entire colony. "Doesn't this thing have any weapons?"

"If it did, I wouldn't be dodging like hell right now, would I?" Cortez irritably answered him back, the venom in his voice completely unmistakable. His response made the colonel blink in surprise. Not once had he ever heard the usually nice pilot utter something remarkably unpleasant. If he had to guess, the guy must be under a _lot _of stress.

_Well, no shit, Sherlock._ He mentally reprimanded himself to have asked such a stupid question. Of course he would have known about the shuttle's lack of weaponry. He was, after all, a qualified fighter jock from the Systems Alliance before he left. More importantly, flying the UT-47 was no easy feat. Flying the Kodiak during atmospheric combat requires considerable skill, where the pilot has to reduce the vehicle's mass for speed and handling while maintaining enough mass to resist incoming fire and inclement weather. If Cortez wasn't so damn good at his job, he would've already overstressed the transport's field generator and they would've end up _on _the battlefield instead of above it. _It's a miracle the guy's got us this far…_

Suddenly, a searing laser blast fired from one of the chasing aircraft grazes the topmost part of the shuttle's hull, rocking everyone inside as the Kodiak barely survived the hit.

"Shit!" Cortez cursed loudly, not expecting the recent impact. Banking the shuttle heavily to the right, he circled around to try and take another pass at the enemy formation. "We can't take much more of this."

"I know!" The colonel agreed. "We need to get to them first before we can bug out and—" Before he could finish his sentence, Robert's breathless voice abruptly echoed inside the shuttle's cockpit.

"_Steve, you there?_" Rodriguez could hear the sound of heavy breathing, followed by what he thought was the intense clatter of wings buzzing ever so loudly. Steve on the other hand was almost at his breaking point.

"Robert, just hang on, we're almost there!" The pilot hysterically responds on the radio.

"_No, it's too late for us._" The man on the other end of the line told his loving husband. The way he had said it was so calm and peaceful, it was as if he already accepted his fate and was just waiting for it to approach him. _Wait a minute…us? Oh, no…_If Robert couldn't make it out, that also meant Therese can't—

_Oh God, no, please, no, no, no, no. This can't be happening. We're almost there, all we need now is to breach the fighter screen, land quickly, and get them out of there. We won't fail. We can't afford to, not with their lives on the line. God, please…_

As Rodriguez kept on pondering with his thoughts and prayed to God for another miracle, the conversation between Robert and Cortez was still in full swing, this time the ex-Alliance fighter jock was on the verge of tears.

"I'm coming to get you." The pilot said stubbornly, refusing to accept the fact that he was already too late and that their unknown enemy had already won.

"_Don't you dare!_" Robert defiantly answered back, his voice never wavering. "_They're everywhere. You'd just get taken, too._" Tears were now flowing freely in Cortez's cheeks, the fighter jock sniveling slowly as he replies.

"I can't just sit here, doing nothing!"

"_Stay with me._"

"Run—g-g-get out of there! You can make it!" Despite all the loud ambient noise in the background, the colonel could still hear someone sighing on the other end of the line.

"_No I can't Steve._" Robert told his husband softly, the way he said it was almost like a whisper. "_But you can. Promise me._"

"Robert, I—" Before he could reply, Cortez's husband cut him off.

"_I love you, but I know you. Don't make me an anchor. Promise me, Steve._"

"No, don't…" Rodriguez could see Cortez was completely wrecked with grief and was weeping ever so slowly, the tears falling all over the pilot's dark grey cargo pants. The colonel was completely surprised when his own cheeks were starting to get moist and slick, not even realizing that his own tears were already starting to fall.

"I promise." He could barely hear the man utter those two little words, who's hands were still dancing away on the shuttle controls.

"_Thank you. Now, Henry,_" Rodriguez gulped when he heard his name being called by Robert. Even though he already knew how this was going to end, he still refused to believe in it, as part of him still thinks there's another way to get to them. "_I have someone here who really wants to talk to you._" There was about a few seconds of relative silence, but to him, it felt like an eternity. He could feel his heart beating slowly, his respiration deepening as both of his hands were starting to clam up. _No, I can still save her. I just need to find a way to get past these bastards' defenses and—_

"_Honey, you there?_" The sweet voice of Therese Watkins-Rodriguez was clearly heard on his ears. It was basically like a melody to him whenever he got the chance of hearing it, and even though it was good to hear from her, he still refused to believe that this moment was probably the last time they could hear each other's voices. Trying his best to steady his voice, he breathed deeply and replied

"Hey, babe."

"_Hey, yourself._" Despite how completely fucked up the situation was, Rodriguez couldn't help but smile. With their entire world going down to hell, his wife's spirits was still up, never wavering even in the face of imminent death. Right now, he just wanted to get to her and hold her so tight and never let go. _If only life was that fair…_

"Listen," the colonel began explaining, struggling to keep his voice from breaking as his tears started flowing even more. "we can still get you out of there, alright? I'm just waiting for a little gap in their defenses and then we can slip right through and then—"

"_Honey, please stop._" Therese, like Robert's voice before her, was calm and tender; never betraying any emotion other than her extreme gentleness and love. "_We both know that's not going to happen._" And with that, the colonel completely lost control of his breathing and began to snivel slowly.

"I can't just leave you and my baby girl there, damn it," Rodriguez replied softly while he wiped away his eyes from the tears that were building up. "Not when I still have the chance to do something."

"_Don't worry about it, I got Robert here with me, and little Ashley._" He could hear a pang of sorrow in her voice for the slightest of moments before returning to its normal cheery self. Their baby girl, not even born into this world yet, and was already being taken by these heartless bastards.

"Therese, please…" Rodriguez pleaded with his wife as he began sobbing uncontrollably. "Don't do this, please…"

"_Look, honey, I don't have much time. So please, listen to me, okay?_" The colonel acknowledged his wife before she continued: "_I want you to go and live your life as best as you can, find someone who's going to love you as much as I did, and spend the rest of your life being happy with her, okay?_" Rodriguez felt his body shaking uncontrollably as he cried his heart out, his knees gave way and he knelt on the cockpit's cold metallic floor. Here she was, with death only minutes away, hoping that his husband could find someone else to make him happy after she's passed. _God, please, I can't live without her. I'll do anything, please…_He kept on whimpering for the better part of a minute before Therese's voice broke him out of his sniveling trance.

"_I know it's going to be hard, honey. But whenever you feel like you're lonely and alone, know this,_" Therese took a deep breath, and at that moment, he could've sworn that he could tell his wife was on the verge of tears, but was staying strong for the both of them. "_know that whatever happens, I'm always going to be with you, okay?_"

"P-P-Please, d-d-d-don't…" Rodriguez struggled to make himself form a single coherent sentence, but he was so wrecked with grief that it was almost impossible to even utter a single word in edgewise.

"_I love you, Henry._" At that moment, the colonel stopped crying, managing to get some semblance of control on his breathing when he heard her say those words."_Always have, always will. Please take care of yourself._"

Before he could say how much he loved her, and how lucky he was to have met such a beautiful and loving soul, they lost the connection a few seconds later; the signal terminated, as the insect swarm finally converged on Robert and Therese's last known position as they did the inevitable. And just like that, she was gone in a blink of an eye.

Grabbing the pilot's chair for support, Rodriguez slowly stood up, took a few deep breaths, and wiped any tears that he felt was still residing in his light brown eyes. He had to be strong now, for his men. For Therese. He'd be damned if he let her see him like this, sniveling like a damn baby instead of being the man she wanted him to be.

"Cortez…" He weakly called to the pilot, who slowly turned to faced him, his eyes bearing the same amount of grief as his. "Get us outta here." The man slowly nodded his head and returned his attention to the Kodiak's flight controls.

_I'm so sorry, Therese. _The colonel went back towards the passenger compartment, all eyes were on him as he approached a seat that was nowhere near anyone else's._ I should've been there with you, I should've been right by your side when these bastards hit…I should've died with you, instead of being alive and feeling all alone. I don't know if I could do this without you. _Strapping the overhead guard on his chest, Rodriguez slumped in his seat, staring out ahead and thinking on where to go next. His tears began building up on his eyes once again.

_I never felt so alone and lost in my entire life._


	12. FCC File 46124-D

_**FUTURE CONTENT CORPORATION – NEWS SERVICE**_

_**Human Colony of Ferris Fields Disappears Without Explanation**_

_By: Emily Wong – (21:47 EST / 01-24-2185)_

_The human colony Ferris Fields has disappeared completely without a trace – where the entirety of its population, numbering to about eighteen thousand people, are missing. The colony, which was widely known throughout the galaxy for its defense against a massive slaver attack a few years back, was first discovered abandoned after a routine shipment of military equipment from a Hahne-Kedar freighter landed in there two days ago, finding the entire colonial settlement empty._

_Human colonists throughout the galaxy have caused an immense uproar on the news networks, demanding swift retribution to the perpetrators of this atrocious crime. Some of the colonies' regional human governors have even suggested calling upon a Systems Alliance battlegroup to help protect human lives, a move which was viciously condemned by the other alien settlers as they saw this as a pre-emptive tactic in further securing human dominance in the Terminus Systems._

_As of right now, no one has claimed responsibly for this unprovoked aggression, where analysts from the Citadel blamed the attacks on slavers or pirates, investigators from the Alliance thought differently. "It's too meticulous for a bunch of half-assed slavers," says inspector Sergei Romanoff. "They never try too hard in covering their tracks, as for whoever's responsible; all I can say is that they did a really damn good job in taking everyone, and making my work a living hell in finding out what really happened."_

_Meanwhile, the Alliance representative in the Citadel Council, former Captain David Anderson, could not be reached for a comment._

**- - - - - - - - END TRANSMISSION - - - - - - - -**


	13. No Such Luck

**A/N:**

**Hey guys! Sorry for the late update, again, another bad case of writer's block. So, I've been having a hard time lately thinking as to what path Rodriguez and the guys should take, so I made a poll on my profile for you guys to decide. Anyway, I give you this really short chapter. :)**

* * *

**January 26****th**** 2185 C.E.**

**Ferris Fields**

Staff Lieutenant Sergei Romanoff was in a really big dilemma—scratch that, he was pretty much in a very, very big clusterfuck. Not only did he _still _not know the reason why the colonists here had mysteriously vanished, but he just had about three days left until the politicians back at the Citadel pulled the plug on this investigation, fearing that their continued presence here would upset all the local governors in the Terminus Systems. The Alliance officer mentally sighed. _What a bunch of ass-kissing pussies…_

Grabbing a single cigarette out of his shirt pocket, he lighted it with a cheap butane lighter and took one long drag of it. The exhaustion from forty-eight hours of non-stop investigative work was finally taking a huge toll on him. As of right now, they hadn't discovered a single clue as to who did this and why. No bodies, no blood, no DNA, nothing! It's as if they all got up and left this damn settlement without leaving a forwarding address.

With all the current findings so far, and even though he absolutely hated to admit it, he couldn't help but be impressed. Whoever these bastards were, they were really thorough. The only thing they could find here were a couple of impacts from mass accelerator rounds, explosive residue from grenades, and a couple of other things the people here haven't finished in time; like half-eaten dinners, partially washed dishes, and some other typical household stuff that only supported his conclusion of everyone leaving this place in a big damn hurry. Truth be told, he hadn't seen anything like this in all of his years as an investigator in the Alliance, and he'd actually thought he'd already seen them all. _Guess I haven't. _He thought to himself, taking another drag off his cigarette.

News of the colonists' disappearance here in Ferris Fields had spread like wildfire throughout the entire known galaxy, with the entirety of humanity crying out blood for however did this. At the Citadel, majority of the Council had just dismissed this as another random slaver raid, but representatives from the System Alliance had somehow managed to convince the Big Three (the turian, asari and salarian councilors) to sanction an investigation, with the objective of ascertaining the cause of the settlers' mysterious departure. They didn't agree to it easily, of course (they never do when it came to human affairs), but the human councilor really gave them one hell of an argument to make them go his way. Now, fast forward a few hours later, and here he was, assigned with a team of investigators who were hurriedly sent here to find some answers.

Taking one last drag on his cigarette, he dropped it on the ground and crushed it with his boot while exhaling blue smoke. Even though he still didn't have any concrete proof, he knew it in his gut that this wasn't just another slaver raid; the batarians were never really this systematic in their operations, and it was usually more gruesome and obvious. But this, however, was a complete unknown. And he still had absolutely no idea yet as to what had occurred here. _This fucking blows…_

"Sir," Looking over his shoulder, he spotted his adjutant; a second lieutenant named Henderson, slowly approaching him. "we got some news about the colonial mainframe."

"What is it?" Romanoff asked brusquely, his bloodshot eyes staring intensely at the younger man, who just gulped audibly and proceeded with his findings.

"According to one of our specialists, there's nothing left there that's going to help us in finding out what happened here, sir." The Russian-born officer just sighed frustratingly while massaging the bridge of his nose.

"_Govno_," the staff lieutenant cursed in Russian, "please tell me you're kidding."

"Afraid not, sir." Henderson replied, handing him a datapad. "Here, take a look." Grabbing it, Romanoff couldn't help but curse in his native tongue once again. The kid was right; everything had been completely wiped clean: the daily sensor logs, atmospheric data, even the LADAR readings from their new transmitters were gone. The only thing left inside the damn thing was non-relevant data.

"Was the mainframe tampered with?"

"Unknown, sir. But Jason did say it was a strong possibility."

"Alright then," handing the datapad back, the staff lieutenant made his way towards their makeshift HQ, which used to be the colony's head office, with his subordinate in tow. "do we have any preliminary results as to who did this?"

"Well sir," the young officer began explaining, "you see, based on what we've got so far—"

"Do you guys have any or not?" Romanoff rudely cut in, his fatigue now completely taking over. He hadn't meant to snap on the poor kid, but the staff lieutenant was extremely tired, hungry, and under a lot of pressure from the higher-ups lately that he just couldn't think straight. Besides, those idiots at that damned giant space station still couldn't find their heads so far up their goddamn asses that he could just take his service pistol and—_let's just take a deep breath and relax. _He thought to himself as he exhaled unsteadily, realizing that being grumpy about it wasn't helping matters.

"No sir," Henderson said to him solemnly, his head bowed down in embarrassment. "with all the things that we've got so far, it's still not conclusive enough to base on any known profiles we have."

Accepting the news as best as he could, Romanoff just gave his adjutant a tired smile while waving his hand off to dismiss him; they only had about three days left until this assignment was going to be shut down by the Council, and they were nowhere near close on solving this enigmatic shitstorm.

_What the hell happened here? _Arriving on the building, he quickly went to the second floor, heading his way to the office he had commandeered from one Patrick Knowles, who is—_was—_the head of the colony. _He sure as hell won't be needing this space anymore. _He sadly thought to himself as he took a seat, turning on the terminal his team had installed for him, and started typing a quick report that going to be sent to his superiors on his team's latest findings. Which wasn't really that much to begin with.

_God be with those poor bastards, wherever they are…_

* * *

**Don't forget to review, thanks. **

**-Rookie571**


	14. Loss

**A/N:**

**Hey guys! Just wanted to let you know that the poll is still open until the end of the week, I've already written the drafts for all three possible outcomes, just waiting on what you all decide. Thanks. :)**

* * *

**January 17****th**** 2185 C.E.**

**Jessie's Pub / Illium **

_She's gone, I can't believe she's really gone. _Downing another shot of what he assumed to be some sort of whisky, Henry Rodriguez slammed the now empty glass hard on the bar counter, shaking a few of the other glasses and plates lying around. It was still so hard to believe, and he probably would never believe, that seventeen thousand men, woman and children, plus an entire regiment of militiamen, were gone in the blink of an eye. He'd failed everyone back in Ferris Fields, all those good, caring people; Knowles, and most especially the love of his life—

_Goddamn it. _Closing his eyes, the former colonel of a now non-existent militia just replayed for what seemed like the thousandth time what had happened to them a few days ago, trying to find something he could've done right, anything that could've saved all those helpless souls. If only he could have just set up the LADAR transmitters earlier, if only he could have strengthened their radio links' encryption better.

If, if, if.

There were a lot of things he could've done differently at that time, but whenever he tried to think about it, which he's been doing a lot now ever since they broke orbit from the colony, all of his thoughts came to the same damn thing: everyone would still be taken. Even though a small part of him did acknowledge the fact that what had transpired on Ferris Fields couldn't be helped, the majority still refused to accept it; thinking that he should've seen this coming and prepared accordingly.

And now, everyone there had paid for his mistakes with their lives. For two days, ever since their departure from what used to be their home, he couldn't sleep, he couldn't think straight, and he couldn't eat. All of his thoughts would drift towards their latest engagement, the unknown race that had abducted an entire colonial settlement in what appeared to be less than an hour, and Therese.

_Why did she have to get taken by those things? Why her?! _Rodriguez instinctively gripped his glass harder, and he could hear the subtle sound of it cracking under tremendous pressure. _Why would anyone harm such a sweet and loving person? _His wife, along with his unborn baby girl, taken by those fucking things, and for what reason, he still didn't know. _Why the fuck would they do such a thing—?!_

The glass in his hand broke apart, its shattered pieces scattered all over the shiny, well-cleaned counter top, his hand bleeding from several different wounds. But he didn't notice the pain, nor did he care. He didn't give a damn about anything anymore, not since they took her. His grief was so great and beyond measure, it clouded everything there was about him. The guilt, the remorse, it was too much for him to bear. All those lives depended on him to keep them safe, and now they're gone, just like that.

"You okay there, buddy?" Opening his eyes, he focused it on the man in front of him from across the counter top, who was cleaning up the spilt ice and broken glass with a rag.

"Not really, no." Rodriguez softly replied after a few moments of relative silence, his eyes gazing on the damage he'd done earlier. "Sorry about that." The bartender just shrugged and gave him a smile.

"It's alright, looks like you've got a lot on your mind," The man ducked and grabbed something underneath the counter top and passed it to him, "here, take this, your hand's bleeding."

"What?" Looking down, he noticed that his right hand was bleeding profusely, with some of the glass just sticking closely to the wound. "Oh, thanks." Grabbing the paper towel, he gingerly started wiping off the blood on his hand, wincing a bit. A few of the pieces managed to embed itself a bit deeply into some of the lacerations, but he'll get to it later. Right now, he just wanted to clean up the mess on his hand and get it over with.

"How long was I here?" The former colonel asked, still wiping away on his hand.

"Let's see," the bartender started tapping his chin and looking upwards. "must've been about…say, seven hours now."

"That long?" Rodriguez was shocked, he hadn't realized he'd stayed here that long.

"Yep, you finished about two bottles of Gold Label Erasa. Hell, I can't even believe you're still standing. That asari-made scotch was pretty strong stuff."

"Huh." Was all Rodriguez had to say. Time really did fly past, and now that he realized it, everything around him started to sway, and his head felt as heavy as a damn rock. He was so consumed with his anguish that he hadn't noticed everything else. Grabbing his credit chit, he left a hundred credits, which was more than enough to cover for anything he had drank…and the glass that he'd broken. Standing up and saying his goodbye to the bartender, he placed his uninjured hand on the counter top to balance himself slowly, then headed towards the door.

Illium was a majestic planet, everywhere he looked he could see tall buildings everywhere that stood to almost about hundreds of feet in the air, its designs completely elegant in nature. As a classic garden world developed to serve as a bridge between the Terminus Systems and the Asari Republics, this planet's normally stringent customs laws, which were derived from Council space on product-safety-proscribed materials and sapient trafficking, are surprisingly relaxed. Officially though, Illium is not an asari world; as it is colonized and operated mostly by asari corporate interests. Giving it the same legal latitude enjoyed by the human corporate research enclaves of…some planet that was really cold, and had happened to be near the frontiers of salarian space. He forgot what that place was called, something beginning with a letter N. As for the rest of the planet's description, it happened to be really hot and massive, with the usual surface temperature reaching at a scolding sixty-three degrees Celsius. Ground settlements were only possible at the planet's higher latitudes; and in more equatorial locations, the population was housed in arcology skyscrapers to escape the extreme heat of the surface.

As a regional hub of asari commerce awash in riches, Illium was infamous for its abusive labor practices and legalization of nearly everything, except murder. As such, this place was the preferred production site of powerful high-grade weapons technology and pharmaceuticals that would be illegal nearly anywhere else, which was made even more lucrative by legal indentured servitude.

For a world that's renowned for its allure, luxury, and safety (which was provided by near-total surveillance), everything about this place disgusted Rodriguez. In here, people from all over the galaxy took advantage of everyone. Without regrets. or any remorse, just screwing everyone over for the sake of earning a few extra credits in unadulterated profits. It was basically the same as Omega, but laced with all the high-quality glitz and glamour.

His steps towards the hotel were getting more and more uncoordinated, and his balance completely impaired. He could feel his muscles becoming further relaxed as his face became completely flushed. _I never should've drunk too much…_

After five minutes of walking aimlessly on the streets of Nos Astra, he finally found the huge glowing neon sign that pointed him towards the place he wanted to go. He entered the hotel's luxurious lobby, seeing people laughing and enjoying themselves, having the time of their lives. It all reminded him of all those simpler and happier times at Ferris Fields, before those damned bugs made their move. Where everything was perfect, with Therese in his arms and—

_Snap out of it, she's gone. _He thought to himself, his mind unrelentingly bringing him back to the bitter grim of reality. Whenever he would drift back towards those moments, he would once again be reminded of how much he had screwed up big time, failing those people who counted on him to protect them.

Reaching the elevator, he pressed the button going up, after a few unsuccessful attempts which lasted about a few more seconds longer than usual. _Look at yourself you sorry piece of shit, _His consciousness said to him. _What would she say if she saw you now?_

_Fuck you. _He simply replied back.

As the doors opened, he pressed the door to his floor, riding for about a few seconds until he reached his destination. _5023…5024…5025…ah-hah! _He grabbed the electronic key-card from his jacket pocket and placed it into the slot, where it rewarded him with a quick beep and a click as the door slid towards the side. The suite he and the rest of the guys occupied had about four rooms, and was fully provided with semi-luxurious furniture.

Going further inside, he saw Johnson and Walters in the suite's living room, just sitting on the couch watching the news on the holo-screen in front of them. As soon as he opened the door, both of their gazes focused on him, with the southerner's expression showing him that of amusement.

"Sir," the former lieutenant greeted him. "you look like shit."

"What?" Looking around his outfit to see anything that was out of the ordinary, he checked his clothes to see if there was something in it. There was nothing on the black leather jacket, no stains on the blue v-neck shirt he wore, and he couldn't find anything on the navy blue jeans he currently had on. For good measure, he even checked his leather shoes to see if there was anything on it. "I give up, what is it?"

Shaking his head in amusement, Johnson stood up from the couch and grabbed something in the table near him and went straight towards his CO and placed the object, which was a mirror, right in front of him.

"Here, take a look." Rodriguez saw himself, only, he couldn't see the usually clean shaven face, the sharp and proud gaze in his eyes, or even the well-kept hair he had just about a few days ago. Now, all he could see was his really unruly hair, the extremely blood shot eyes that were losing its once proud focus, and a stubble that hadn't been shaved in days from his reddened face.

He felt like he was looking into the reflection of a different person, and he could barely recognize the man he was already starting to become. This wasn't him, and at that moment, he could vividly recall with perfect clarity the last thing Therese had said to him, before he lost contact with her forever.

_Take care of yourself. _

Then, the realization hit him like a truck, and it scared the living hell out of him. He instantly took a few steps backwards—only to stumble carelessly because of his drunken state, his flailing hands striking a nearby table containing a vase filled with flowers, both of which went down on the ground beside him. Johnson and Walters quickly went to his aid, with the latter giving the former a harsh glare.

"What the hell were you thinking?!" The XO scolded his fellow officer.

"I was just trying to cheer him up," The southerner nervously explained as he went near his commander and grabbed an arm, while Walters took another, "I didn't expect this."

"Well, you should. You know better than that," The former major wrapped Rodriguez's arm around his neck, motioning for Johnson to do the same, "you know what he's been through, already." Both of them stood up from the ground and walked carefully towards the room meant for their superior officer. It took them quite the effort, seeing as how heavy the man was. After a few seconds worth of strenuous activity, they finally reached his room.

"Quick, grab his legs," Walters ordered, with the armored cavalryman acknowledging immediately as he went to pick up the limbs, both of them trying their hardest not to drop their overly wasted CO as they cautiously put him in the queen-sized bed. With that out of the way, Johnson headed towards the room's cabinets and took a blanket, spreading it evenly over his commander's body.

"Come on," The XO said, making his way towards the door, "he needs his rest." The two officers quietly exited the room and closed the door silently on their way out.

On the bed, Rodriguez was still reeling from the shock he had earlier. The extremely worn-down face he saw in his reflection earlier had somehow sobered him up a little, but it still wasn't much.

_Know that whatever happens, I'm always going to be with you, okay? _Therese's sweet, tender voice was floating inside the complex processes that was in his mind; he could still hear it with the same clarity as from the day he'd heard her say her last goodbye on the shuttle, during that fateful day. He could still picture her beautiful face, her fierce blue eyes that conveyed all the love she felt towards him, and her gorgeous wild, wavy brunette hair that just couldn't be tamed.

And once more, his mind brutally reminded him that she was now gone completely from his life, with those bug-eyed bastards doing God-knows what towards those poor people on some godforsaken place.

_God, why? Why would you let this happen to her? _His eyes start watering up again, and he could feel the tears freely streaming down on his face as he closed his eyes tight, shutting everything out. _Why her, and not me…_

His sobs were getting more and more frequent, until he started to break down completely, losing himself over the immense grief he had been carrying ever since he'd lost her, wailing loudly as he once again relived the anguish of his bereavement.

"_Why?!_" He screamed the word out at the top of his lungs, as he sat upright on his bed, his hands covering his face, as if trying to stop the tears from falling.

It felt like he was there for hours, just sitting there on his bed, crying his heart out. He had hoped to God, _begged_ even, to not let those things take her. But still, they took her, those unrelenting four-eyed bugs that just abducted an entire colony without any specific reason or motive. Just swooping in from nowhere and taking everybody.

Suddenly, his heart began to ache excruciatingly from that thought, the sudden throbbing making him gasp for air, as he laid a hand on his chest; clutching the fabric of his shirt tightly around the area where it hurt the most. _What the hell…?! _After a few agonizing seconds later, the pain abruptly subsided and went away.

Still heavily breathing from the unexpected pain he just went through, Rodriguez slowly started to loosen his tight grip on his shirt and chest, trying to analyze what just happened. He never even had the chance to start. After almost two days of not sleeping, which was supplemented by the fact that he was totally inebriated and under a great deal of emotional trauma, he finally succumbed to his sheer exhaustion, unceremoniously landing his head on the pillow.

He could feel his eyelids starting to get heavy, trying to fight the drowsiness through sheer force of will, but lost. He went to sleep a few moments later. With his subconscious completely taking over, it bombarded his mind with the few precious moments he held dear in his life.

And at that night, ever since she was gone, God gave him a good dream.

* * *

"_Hey, slow down. Where are you taking me?" Therese was taking him by the hand, leading him somewhere that was just beyond the outskirts of the colony. Whenever he asked where their destination was, all she ever said to him was that it was a surprise. This time was no different. When he asked for what seemed like the umpteenth time, she just gave him that sweet smile of hers and kept on walking, not revealing anything. _

_Ever since that wonderful night at Knowles' place, he asked her out the next day. Though it was sort of a spur of the moment kind of thing, he hadn't absolutely planned on what he was about to do next. Just thinking about how stupid he was about it made his skin go pale, his hands getting clammy as he had never thought that far ahead._

_So the next day, as he was about to head out towards the clinic without any kind of plan at all, he was genuinely surprised when he saw Therese standing outside his door, wearing an outfit that was perfectly made for her. It wasn't a drop-dead gorgeous kind of thing. It was simple, a plain blue sundress with a calf-length skirt and a halter top. It showed off her pale, sculpted shoulders, while her chest was covered with a hint of cleavage, and her elegant curves all the more accentuated. Her brunette hair was flowed loose around those shoulders in all its wavy glory; and those surprisingly delicate feet of hers were encased in light strappy sandals, and she started to shift her weight from one foot to the other nervously. _

_Unbelievable._

_Here was this beautiful woman, who came all this way to pick him up herself, nervous at the sight of him just wearing a plain windbreaker, a camo shirt, and a pair of jeans. _Oh Dear God, _his mind said to himself, its functions almost beginning to cease. _She's flawless._ Her pale blue eyes started to meet with his, and she shyly looked at the ground, her cheeks starting to blush._

"_Hi." She softly said to him, her cute voice so alluring. At that moment, the major couldn't find the words to say to her, he so desperately wanted to tell her how amazing she looked on that dress, how it was definitely made for her._

"_You look nice." Rodriguez said to her a few seconds later, after almost drooling at the sight of her. _Are you freaking kidding me? Seriously? Was that all you had to say? _He immediately chastised himself for saying something so incredibly stupid, but Therese just giggled, and he thought the sound of it was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard._

"_You don't look so bad yourself," she said to him, "now come on, I gotta show you something."_

_Fast forward it forty-five minutes later, and here they were, starting their way towards the somewhat steep ascent of a hill overlooking the settlement. It took them a while to reach the summit, but they eventually did it without any further problems. The hill they were on was completely covered green with grass, which was miraculously soft enough to sit on. When they finally got comfortable enough, Rodriguez stared at the view that was just ahead of him._

_It was an amazing sight. Ferris Fields in all of its full glory. While the prospect of looking at a bunch of pre-fabricated structures wasn't entirely his idea of a full-on romantic first date, this just felt really good, like all was right on the world. He could see the vehicles trekking their way towards their destinations on the main colonial highway, and the people bursting with activity on the courtyard that was just in front of the colony's head office. The twin stars just blazing freely in the orange sky, followed by the wind just giving off a cool breeze; this was perfect. He could just stare at this all day, and he wouldn't get bored._

"_Beautiful, isn't it?" Therese finally said to him after a few minutes' worth of comfortable silence, her eyes still on the majestic sight in front of them. Averting his gaze towards her, Rodriguez just stared at the wonderful woman beside him, feeling that he was the luckiest man alive to have even had the chance to meet such a perfect woman._

"_Yeah, it really is." The major replied back, never even taking his eyes off of her. She broke off her stare to look at him, her cheeks blushing profusely when she realized he wasn't talking about the view._

_And just like that, he never wanted that moment to end._

* * *

Waking up from his slumber with a crushing headache, Rodriguez sluggishly sat upright on his bed, his hand immediately clutching the side of his head. It felt like it was about to burst at any given moment, but he'd expected that. What he didn't expect though, was the memory he had on his first date with Therese flashing on his mind. Not that he was going to complain about it, after all, it was one of the best things that ever happened to him, and he swore to himself that he was going to treasure those few moments for as long as he lived.

The door in front of him slid open, revealing his XO, who was carrying with him a glass of water laced with two tablets of aspirin. He sat at the foot of his bed while handing him the glass, which he carefully took with both hands.

"You alright, sir?" Walters had asked, his voice filled with apprehension, not sure on how to tackle on the loss the former colonel had experienced.

"Yeah," Rodriguez answered back, surprised on how hoarse his voice was. He slowly chugged down the contents of his glass and handed it back to the former major. "how's Hadley and Cortez?"

"Cortez locked his room, won't let anyone in. We could hear him crying every few hours or so," The younger man took a deep breath, then continued: "as for Hadley, he still can't talk. Suzumi tried everything, but no luck so far."

"And Johnson?" At that, Walters just let out a slight smile before replying.

"He's pissed as hell, that's for sure. Said we should take the fight to those bugs as a freelance merc. Guy's definitely full of ideas." Rodriguez just let out a soft chuckle, relieving him of some of the stress he still had inside of him. He was glad that the hot-headed southerner was still himself. That was a small victory he could count on.

"What about you, Adrian?" The executive officer looked like he was a bit lost in thought for a second or so, then returned his gaze towards his commander.

"I definitely agree with Johnson, sir. But I'm not really warming up to the idea of becoming a merc."

"What do you think?"

"I was thinking of us enlisting in the Alliance Marines, sir." Walters said to him. "That way, we could have a huge chance of finding out who was behind the attack on Ferris Fields." The guy was right, as always. But Rodriguez wasn't entirely comfortable with the fact that his secret would probably be blown right out of the water if he ever thought about signing up. No one else knew about his secret existence here in the future, and the only person who had access to those highly encrypted files was Knowles, and he was already gone. Thinking about the older man pained him greatly. He was surely going to miss that stubborn bastard.

"What do you think, sir?" Walters asked him, breaking him away from his thoughts.

"I'll think about it," Rodriguez assured him. "for now, all of us needs to rest."

"Of course, sir." The XO stood up from the bed. "Whatever you need." Giving him a small smile, he headed towards the door and closed it, leaving him once again in his thoughts.

What was he going to do now? Should he follow Johnson's suggestion, about being a mercenary? Like his XO, he wasn't entirely sure that following the same path of some other random guy, who'll just be going after a shitload of credits to the highest bidder. But, at least they had the freedom to go and do whatever they please. Of course, he wasn't going to do it for the money. He and his men were better than that, after all.

Or should he follow Walters's advice? Sign up for the Alliance to have access to their abundant resources that could be used at his disposal. Problem was, his movements would be restricted, and he'd be bound to follow orders in the chain of command for as long they were there. He wasn't even going to think about the problems he would've had, if he signed up and his name would be flagged by the databases as part of a highly-classified file.

Or, he could maybe just follow Cortez's career as a fighter pilot just for the hell of it. Based on all the stories he'd heard from him, it wasn't a bad move to go over.

All of the choices, each of them bound with a different route to their future. The good news what that it would give him and the rest of the guys a purpose to surely follow, a reason to keep on living again, and a chance for redemption. He had failed everyone he ever knew back on Ferris Fields, and he wasn't planning on doing it again to the rest of the guys that were left, who still believed in him.

For Walters, Johnson, Hadley, Suzumi and Cortez.

He promised himself he'd never fail them ever again, not while he was still drawing breath. With his newfound strength, he stood up from his bed and headed towards the door.


	15. Hopes and Dreams

**A/N:**

**Hey guys! I'm baaaack! Anyways, just wanted to let you all know that I'm in desperate need for an editor right now. I've been reading all my chapters lately, and I realized it was still crappy and it needs professional help. Just PM me if you're interested. Thanks. :)**

* * *

**January 21****th**** 2185 C.E.**

**Hotel Requiem / Illium**

"Remind me again, why are we here in the hotel grocery store?" Albert Johnson asked no one in particular, his hand carrying a shopping basket filled with an assortment of various meats, cheeses, and spices. Next to him, Adrian Walters was in the process of picking up a loaf of bread when he sighed annoyingly.

"Because the Colonel ordered us to," the former XO answered simply, putting the bread into Johnson's basket. "now stop asking dumb questions."

"It ain't dumb, dammit…!"

_Here we go again…_Ryuji Suzumi aggravatingly thought to himself. This was already the seventh time they were going at it, and that was just for this day alone. Seeing them bicker and stare daggers at each other reminded him a lot of Aleksi and Hadley, and just thinking about the former only made him sad, realizing that his friend was no longer among the living.

To be honest, he wasn't really that close to Alekseyev per se, but his death hit Hadley the hardest. And ever since they were forced to leave the dying militiaman behind, the young private hadn't even uttered a single word right until now, and it worried him a lot. The Colonel had told them, based on his observations anyway, that in addition to George's combat stress reaction, the poor guy was also suffering from a possible case post-traumatic vocal disarticulation; a purely psychological condition which rendered him unable to speak after witnessing an extremely disturbing event, even though there was no actual catastrophic injury to his vocal chords.

As of right now, there were currently no available remedies or any viable treatments for the rare disorder, and just thinking about the possibility that George Hadley was going to be mute for the rest of his life troubled the corporal greatly. It had already been almost a full week since they barely escaped Ferris Fields alive, and he noticed that nobody really liked to talk about what happened. It was understandable though, seeing as it was still a sore topic to all of them, and the wound was still fresh. Besides the nearly catatonic private, their shuttle pilot was still in a state of shock and wouldn't stop grieving; while the former colonel was already on the road to recovery, which was good news to all of them.

They desperately needed a leader right now, a tough foundation in which they could all rely on when the shit hits the fan again, and he truly believed that Henry Rodriguez was still that man, even when the guy was still blaming himself for not saving the entire colony. Now that he really thought about it, there was nothing the man could've done differently that would have resulted in a different outcome. The colonists would still get taken by those four-eyed bugs, and if it wasn't for his former CO, they'd probably get taken too. But he couldn't blame him for feeling all that immense guilt, and if it had happened to anyone else, they would've probably lost their mind a long time ago. Plus the fact that his wife and unborn baby got taken only made the man's suffering even worse enough as it is.

He could still remember what had happened to his commanding officer a few days ago, when the guy returned from the bar near the hotel: the weeping, the grief-stricken howls of despair coming from his room, he still remembered all of it way too clearly. Now though, seeing him slowly recuperating from that intense emotional trauma was a blessing, at least. Suzumi was so deep in thought that he barely even noticed Johnson elbowing him in the shoulder.

"Yo, Rye!" The southerner elbowed him once more, finally getting his attention. "You still with us, dude?"

"Yeah," The former corporal responded, massaging the area he knew was going to bruise soon. "what is it?"

"I was just going to ask you about something." With that, Johnson presented two types of seasoning in front of him. "Which was one's better for pasta? Basil leaves, or rosemary?" Suzumi just stared at the man for a few seconds, still reeling from the sudden question the guy asked him.

"Seriously? Why the hell are you asking me for?"

"Because our mighty fine XO here says basil leaves are better, and I happen to disagree."

"For the last time," Walters joined in on the conversation, his voice dripping with frustration. "rosemary is too strong, it's going to destroy the sauce's flavor."

"And how the hell would you know, huh? I haven't even seen you cook."

"Do you even know how to cook?" And at that, the two of them just argued further on which spice is better suited for the pasta. After that, their topic shifted to cooking, and who was better at it, then to their respective love lives. Which didn't make any form of sense; making the former corporal wonder how both of them ended up on that particular point of discussion.

_For God's sakes. _Suzumi massaged the bridge of his nose to soothe away what he felt was an approaching headache. With the two of them grouped together, they would probably just argue all day instead of getting things done, and it probably be a miracle if they actually got it done. They were still going at it for five more minutes until he finally intervened.

"Why don't we just take both of them?" Both Johnson and Walters slowly looked at him at the same time, their faces showing looks of disbelief and barely contained anger.

"_No!_" The two of them replied in unison, refusing to even acknowledge his suggestion. After that, they just continued arguing over another pointless topic, this time going over the fact at whose better at picking up chicks.

_Fuck it._

It took them a while before they finally settled their differences about a bunch of other trivial things, before they finally decided that pesto and cayenne peppers were the logical choice for the pasta they were going to make. As they entered the elevator taking them up to their floor, Suzumi thoughts flew aimlessly on where they would go next.

Before those four-eyed monsters made their assault on Ferris Fields, he thought he already had his whole life planned out. If he had completed the colonial militia's minimum twelve-month service, he would've saved up just enough money for him to attend the universities back home on Earth, so he could finally materialize his childhood dream of becoming a doctor at a prestigious hospital. But now, those plans were just draining down the shitter, and he couldn't help but feel a little lost. And there was nothing he could do about it.

His future, the one where he was preparing for most of his life, was just gone; all because an unknown alien race decided to fuck with them for no apparent reason. The doctorate, the house on the hill, the beautiful wife and kids, those dreams were gone now. And he had to accept that. Which he knew was easier said than done, and just thinking about all of his newfound hopelessness suddenly made him melancholic.

"Rye," He felt a hand on his shoulder, and turning his head, he saw Walters looking at him with a concerned look. "you okay?"

"I'm fine." Suzumi lied, trying to assure the former major with a fake smile. But the major wasn't a fool, and he could see through his hastily built façade clearly.

"No, you're not. What's on your mind?"

The Japanese-born militiaman was at a loss on what to tell the guy. Was he going to tell him the truth? About how utterly hopeless their situation was? Or was he going to lie, even when Walters could really see how troubled he was. In the end, it didn't really matter what he thought anymore.

"What're we going to do now, Walt?" He asked the XO softly. "Ferris Fields is gone, everyone we know is gone, I mean, what's the point?" Walters averted his gaze; he could tell that he was thinking about what he said real hard. A few moments later, he looked back at him, a slight, genuine smile on his face.

"Honestly? I sure as hell don't know, but I bet the Colonel does."

"Do you seriously believe in that?" Suzumi asked one more time. "No BS or anything."

"Yep. I really do." The former corporal was surprised on how fast the man answered that question, and the sincerity of his words helped alleviate most of his sour, melancholic mood. And who knows, maybe Walters was right, the Colonel probably did have a plan for all of them. When the odds were stacked against him during that batarian invasion attempt two years ago, he somehow managed to find a way to turn the tide, and win. If he could do it once, perhaps he could do it again. And with that, he could feel all of his remaining fears and insecurities melt away in an instant, replaced by something he thought was never going to come to them again: hope.

He could feel the elevator stop moving, and after hearing a quick ding, the doors ahead of him opened. As they slowly exited the lift one by one, Suzumi couldn't help but smile.

_Well, at least I'm not going through this mess alone._

* * *

**Don't forget to tell me what you think. Thanks again.**

**-Rookie 571**


	16. Departure

**January 27****th**** 2185 C.E.**

**Illium Medical Center / Illium**

Rodriguez stared at one of the nearby holo-screens in front of him; the futuristic flatscreen TV currently showing him the latest news about the missing colonists back on Ferris Fields. According to the reporter, there wasn't anything there they could find that would help implicate as to who was responsible for the colonists' disappearance, and that in just a few more days, the Citadel Council was going to cease all further activity in the area to help ease tensions there. The words the lead investigator said was troubling, to say the least. No bodies, no DNA, just plain nothing. He also told the news people that if it were up to him, he just needed a bit more time to find out what had truly happened. But eventually he and his men were overruled, and their final orders gave them only forty-eight Earth-standard hours to vacate the abandoned colony.

The former colonel just sighed. If only those bugs hadn't deleted everything, they would still have all the proof they need to show to the Council and the rest of the Systems Alliance. Sadly, as always, it wasn't meant to be. And the truth was probably going to die along with them. That particular thought of which he immediately put aside.

The news reports also hadn't made any mentions of him, what was left of his militia (which was down to only five men), and one of the missing shuttles, which was currently docked at the spaceport. He wasn't sure whether this piece of information was good news to all of them or not. They were probably never going to find out who they really were, anyways.

Before they arrived here at Illium, he had asked Cortez to scrub the Kodiak's IFF transponder of their real identity as a precaution at that time, thinking that those bugs were specifically targeting them because of where they lived. Now though, he was having second thoughts about that particular decision. If he had let the rest of the galaxy find out that there were survivors during that attack, would they believe them? Would they come to their aid without any further evidence as to who was responsible? It was a long-shot, he knew, but should he have taken that chance? And if he did, was he willing to risk the lives of his remaining men for the slim hope of help?

_Damn it. _He clenched his fists. _I just hope I did the right thing._

"Mister Rodriguez?" Looking away from the holo-screens, he saw an official-looking asari standing near him, a datapad in hand.

"Yeah, that's me." He cautiously told her. "What is it?"

"Would you please follow me?" He gave the purple-colored alien a short nod, then proceeded to follow her as they walked through the various hallways inside the private medical facility. In truth, he wasn't really a huge fan of big hospitals. Just something about a place like this seemed…off, somehow. Like people who were coming in here became a different person once they were discharged. He couldn't quite describe what he felt whenever he was inside one of these places. Maybe it was the soldier inside of him talking, maybe it wasn't, but it really scared him nonetheless. If he had a choice at where he was going to die someday, he'd rather much prefer some place that wasn't depressing and creepy at the same time.

It took them about a few minutes to walk when they finally arrived. An office door with a nameplate showing him it belonged to one Doctor Greg Harrison M.D., a human, no doubt. The asari motioned for him to enter with a smile and a wave, which he did. And he was right. Inside, he saw a middle-aged man with gray hair sitting behind a desk, reading something important on his computer terminal. The older man barely even saw him approach and pointed for him to take a seat, which he also did wordlessly.

They were silent for about a few moments, the man across still in the process of his reading until he finally looked at him, clasping his hands in front of him to signify he had his complete and undivided attention.

"Mister Henry Rodriguez, is it?" The doctor had asked, to which he just gave out a nod. "I understand that you are the guardian of one—" he looked at his terminal "—George Hadley?"

"Yes, sir. I am." He simply replied, his voice neutral and never wavering. Doctor Harrison just gave him a brief look before proceeding to look on his terminal once more.

"Then I'm afraid I have some bad news for you, sir."

"What is it?"

"Whatever Mister Hadley has been through, it's taken quite a toll on him." The doctor turned his terminal screen towards him, and Rodriguez saw the former militiaman just sitting inside a room, looking at a section on the wall unflinchingly. Just seeing the younger man like this broke his heart, feeling somewhat responsible for his current predicament. Besides the video footage were a bunch of medical case notes and observations. "He's barely reacting to any external stimuli, his motor activity is nearly non-existent, he makes little or no eye contact with anyone, and to top it all off, he can't talk."

The former colonel couldn't take his eyes off the video footage, where Hadley is just sitting there in his chair, mouth agape, and his eyes completely and utterly hollow. There was nothing left in there anymore; the spark that he used to see in them a few days ago was gone. It took Rodriguez a while before he finally found his voice.

"Is…is there any way to fix this, doc?"

"Honestly?" Harrison looked at him apprehensively. "There is, but there's only a slight chance that it'll work. Post-traumatic vocal disarticulation is a rare case around these parts, and so are the treatments for it."

"Give it to me straight then, doc." Rodriguez tore his gaze away from the screen and into Harrison's eyes. "How does this work? And more importantly, how long will it take?"

"Well, to provide the patient with symptomatic relief, we have to give him high doses benzodiazepines as a first line treatment. After that, maybe a test dose of intramuscular lorazepam or zolpidem, depending on Mister Hadley's responses. As for how long, well," The doctor brought his elbows to his desk, with his held hands covering his mouth. "a few months, at the least. Maybe even a year, if we're lucky."

"Jesus Christ," Rodriguez said softly, his conscience quickly doing its work of making him feel a huge amount of regret for condemning the poor kid to a possible life of permanent mental disability. This was too much to take in. Doctor Watkins appraised him for a few more seconds or so before he spoke.

"Listen, I know this is a lot to ask, but, what exactly happened out there that made the kid endure so much psychological trauma?" With that, the former colonel looked deeper into Harrison's eyes, contemplating whether or not he should tell the good doctor what had transpired to him and the rest of his team a few days ago. They say that you could tell a lot by looking at people's eyes, and the ones he was currently staring at told him that the middle-aged medical specialist was genuinely concerned at his patient's well-being; which was rare here in Illium, considering that everything in this stupid place revolves around the principle of making a quick buck. _Oh fuck it…_

"Is doctor-patient confidentiality still a sacred thing around here, doc?" Harrison just chuckled.

"In some places, yeah." The doc said to him with a slight smile. "Though the asari thinks it's just another obstacle to get through to their profits. Don't worry about it, though. Believe it or not, I actually care about my patients." Taking a deep breath, Rodriguez readied himself for a few seconds until he finally opened his mouth to speak.

"You remember that thing that happened at Ferris Fields, right?"

"The missing colonists?" The doctor gave him a nod. "Yeah, I heard about it. Those poor people taken by slavers, I think." Harrison's expression then changed to one of curiosity. "Why? What about them?"

Without any further delay, Rodriguez wordlessly opened up his omni-tool. Accessing the interface, his fingers were hard at work at scanning its databases to look for a certain file. When he found it, he raised his arm so that Harrison could see it. It didn't take long before the doctor's eyes widened and his skin grew dangerously pale.

"You…" The doctor said to him, his voice almost like a whisper, "you…you were there?" The file he was seeing was part of Rodriguez's militia records at the colony, which included his rank, serial number, and other necessary credentials. The former colonel just gave him another nod and a sad smile before turning the glowing interface off. "What the hell happened over there?"

"I honestly don't know, doc. I don't even know what species they were."

"What were they like? The attackers, I mean." The doctor was suddenly revitalized now, his earlier stupor now gone as it was replaced with urgent interest.

"They looked like bugs." Rodriguez replied, trying to recall what he saw. "They had an insect-like exoskeleton, two forward limbs, they also had four eyes like that from a batarian, y'know? And a large elongated head. At least that's what I think I saw." Harrison listened to him intently, his eyes focused, his ears perking up to listen to every word he had to say. Taking it all in, the middle-aged man leaned back on his faux leather seat and sighed.

"Dear God," he breathed. "how'd you get out of there alive?"

And so for the next few minutes or so, the young man told the doctor everything that had happened to him and what was left of his command. The strange ship burning up on the atmosphere, the compromised radio links, the attack by those drone things and their subsequent crash landing, and their brief but exhausting skirmish defending the Kodiak. He also told him about how he was forced to leave his wife behind along with his unborn baby, something which Rodriguez found difficult, considering it took all of his substantial willpower to keep his voice from breaking as he told the guy everything.

In that moment, Doctor Harrison's facial expression changed. The excited curiosity that was once plastered on his face earlier now gone, turning to that of sympathy and understanding; feeling a bit awful as he tried to wrap around the things the man in front of him had to endure just to be here right now.

"For what it's worth, Mister Rodriguez, I'm truly sorry about what happened to your family."

"It's okay, Doc." He assured the middle-aged man. "What's done is done. Anyways, in regards to Hadley's upcoming treatments, what do I owe you?"

"You don't owe me anything, Mister Rodriguez." Harrison simply told him with an understanding smile, which ended up getting a questioning glance from the surprised former colonel.

"Doc, I just can't—"

"Oh, don't worry about it, son." The doctor gently cut him off. "I'd be damned if I billed you after what you boys have been through. Besides, my conscience would kill me. Just think of it as professional courtesy." Rodriguez didn't know what to say to the man, whose single act of random kindness had managed to lift his badly hindered spirits by a huge margin, for which he was truly grateful. He had actually planned on asking the good doctor for a long-term payment plan of some sorts, seeing as how he and the rest of the boys were kind of short on credits right about now. But he certainly did not expect this.

"Thank you, Doc. I just…thank you." The doctor just shrugged nonchalantly.

"Nah, don't mention it. So, with that out of the way, what're you guys planning on doing now?"

"I honestly don't know yet," Rodriguez softly answered, his hands clasped together on top of his knees. "we were kinda planning on going someplace, look for a job there as mercs or something. Which is silly, I know. But, we don't exactly have a choice in the matter, and we badly need the credits." He head hung low, unable to meet Harrison's gaze, feeling a bit ashamed that he was planning on resorting to this line of work just to just to make ends meet. It felt wrong, and every fiber of his being was disgusted that after all that's happened, it had to come to this.

He was half-tempted to enlist in the Alliance, where everything was all going to be taken care of with just a slight flick of his wrist. But it was practically next to impossible to alter both his facial features and fingerprints after his old Philippine Army service record was classified top secret, somewhere deep in the bowels of Arcturus Station. Plus, it would probably blow the local recruiter's mind right out of the water if the name and picture he'd taken from him was plastered next with the words, "LEVEL SIX CLEARANCE ONLY – PRIORITY ALPHA".

They'd probably call the MP's the second he got that message and arrest him, where they take him to a lab somewhere in the middle of nowhere, and dissect him piece by piece just because of his date of birth. And he wasn't planning on going through any of that, not if he could help it.

The doctor, who he'd half-expected to judge him because of his flawed choices, busied himself as he silently went through one of his desk's drawers, retrieved whatever it was he found, and threw the object right across the surface of the table. Rodriguez looked up and gave the thing a curious glance, then shifted his gaze towards Harrison.

"What's this?"

"_That_ happens to be a credit chit, which belonged to a scumbag I patched up. He got arrested a few weeks ago for smuggling, and I _was_ supposed to hand it over to the authorities here, but I _guess _I forgot about it." The doctor pushed the object further in Rodriguez's way. "Take it, son."

"You've done so much for me and my guys already, doc. I can't accept that."

"I insist, kid. It ain't much, but, it'll help you for a little while till you boys get back on your feet." The former colonel hesitated for what seemed like a long while. He was truly tempted on taking it, he really was. That single credit chit would probably be the solution to all of their problems. As he kept on thinking about the ways it could further alleviate their financial burden, his mind stopped. And all other thoughts of accepting this gracious gift evaporated in an instant as his mind suddenly made him a reminder of who he was. He was a soldier, not a damned beggar. And he wasn't about to start changing that now.

"I'm not taking that, doc." Harrison just gave him a confused look, and he explained further, his voice now carrying his proud confidence and conviction: "As tempting as it is, I'm not taking the easy way out of this shit storm. I promised myself that I'll get my men out of this stupid mess, and by God, I _will_ get them out. But not like this." He stood up from his chair and extended a hand to the middle-aged man, a grateful smile in place. "I can't thank you enough, Doctor Harrison. For everything. I'm in your debt."

The doctor just sat there in apparent disbelief before a smile spread to his face as he also stood up from his chair and took the younger man's hand, which rewarded him with a firm grasp in return.

"Well, if that's your decision then, I'll respect that." Rodriguez took one last look of the kind-hearted doctor, and in a way, the man sort of reminded him of Patrick Knowles, Ferris Fields de facto leader who had a simple heart made out of pure, untainted gold. Even though he was gone, he couldn't help but think that the man's lovable spirit still lived on inside Harrison's life, and for that, he really missed the bearded man terribly. "Anyways, good luck out there, kid."

He gave the man one final nod before he turned around and left.

* * *

"So, we're really doing this then?" Johnson barely-contained gleeful voice asked. Once Rodriguez had left the doctor's office, he found the southerner, along with the rest of his men, already waiting for him at the hospital's lobby, having just arrived here a few minutes ago after they checked out of the hotel they were staying in.

"Yeah," He replied to his subordinate with a firm voice, before taking on a playful note. "unless of course you're backing out now? After all, this was your idea."

"I didn't say anything about chickening out," The young ex-cavalryman replied defensively. "just, trying to make sure, you know?" Rodriguez shifted his gaze towards his XO.

"What about you, Walters?" The man in question looked back at him, his sparkling green eyes showing unquestionable resolve towards his superior officer. He didn't even need to ask, but he just wanted to make sure.

"You know me, sir. I'm with you regardless of where we're going." The former regimental executive officer replied before looking at the former lieutenant. "Knowing him, all of us will probably regret this decision later on." Johnson just gave Walters the finger, which all the more reason made the former major give out a slight smile.

"Suzumi?"

"Well," the former corporal shifted on his feet uneasily, his head drooping low. "I'm kinda nervous at where we're headed, sir."

"Why is that?" Rodriguez asked.

"Without the hardsuits, and besides the K-barriers we salvaged out of it, what're we going to use for protection, sir?" And then Rodriguez suddenly remembered what the young militiaman meant. Right before they arrived here at Illium, he had asked all of them to discard any further equipment that would help trace them back towards Ferris Fields, which included their hardsuits, weapons, and other essential gear they had brought with them. The only thing they had for defense against people who were planning on messing with them was a single M3 Predator heavy pistol in Walter's capable hands, which he bought along with the new clothes they wore now.

"I understand your concern, Rye. But don't worry, I'm sure we won't have any trouble when we get there." His assurance must've worked, because Suzumi just gave him quick nod before shutting out his other worries. Last but not the least, he looked at the dark-skinned shuttle pilot standing beside the former corporal, whose gaze was looking out further ahead at the holo-screen he saw earlier, which was still replaying the news reports about the abductions. "Cortez?"

The former Alliance pilot slowly looked at him, his blue eyes staring right through his brown ones. Besides him and Hadley, Cortez was also greatly devastated during their narrowing escape from the lost colony, having forced to leave behind the only loved one he had left in his life. Like him, he nearly broke from enduring so much emotional trauma, but in the end, he decided to mask all the tremendous pain he felt and grieve for Robert later.

Rodriguez understood what the man was going through. He nearly lost his mind when he failed to save Therese, something which he always ended up thinking about every second of every day. It wasn't easy going through all that at first, but his consciousness reminded him that he still had a duty to his men, and like that shuttle pilot, he was going to sort out through all of his anguished grief later when he knew his men were safe and sound.

Cortez just gave him a military nod to signify his support on their latest decision before looking away, which was all he needed.

"Alright, come on." Rodriguez motioned with a wave for his men to follow him. "Spaceport's this way." As they headed towards the sliding glass doors, Johnson's lack of self-control, combined with his newfound excitement, made him echo out a sentence.

"Omega, here we come!"


	17. Land of Opportunity

******A/N: I have no idea what I'm doing in this chapter. Excuse the unnatural flow in this part of the story. :3**

* * *

**January 29****th**** 2185 C.E.**

**Omega**

_So this is Omega, huh? Jesus Christ. _Henry Rodriguez thought to himself as he slowly exited the Kodiak shuttle, which moments ago had just been secured by the station's docking clamps. He knew this place wasn't exactly a tourist destination from based on what he had read a while back, but he didn't know it was _that _bad. His eyes wandered around the docking bay they were currently situated in, and he still couldn't believe what he was seeing. Rust, dirt, and substantial amounts of filth were basically everywhere on this godforsaken shithole, with the neon lights providing the station's only source of illumination throughout the area. He shook his head in disbelief. It was still hard to believe that people actually lived in this place and called it home.

One by one, the others slowly disembarked from their transport, only carrying bags filled with their clothes and rations. As they walked through the corridor that led them inside the entrance of the station, his nose picked up this terrible, indescribable stench that was beginning to overpower his senses. It was like smelling a combination of blood, piss, puke, and shit that manage to have come from all the assorted species who had taken residence in this huge mining station. Just going further only made the stink unbearable, and he had to ignore the nausea that was slowly building up inside him. Some of them weren't that lucky.

"Oh, shit…" He heard Johnson speak in a low voice behind him. "I think…I'm gonna be—" Turning around, the former colonel saw his subordinate bend low to the ground, just in time to witness the poor southerner empty his stomach's contents on the already dirt-riddled floor.

"You okay, Alley?" Rodriguez asked, feeling a bit sorry for him. The younger man just looked up on him for a moment, his eyes starting to water as he put both of his hands on his knees for support.

"I'll be fine…I just need to—" Johnson eyes widened, and again he vomited on the floor, the bile streaming freely through his mouth. Behind him, Walters just awkwardly patted his fellow officer's back to help ease some of the discomfort. "Fucking smell…"

"Here," Suzumi handed Johnson his water-filled canteen. "drink this."

"Thanks." The ex-cavalryman sluggishly took the bottle and slowly drank its contents, taking a few sips before returning it back and facing his CO. "What now, sir?"

"We find a place to stay," Rodriguez told him as he motioned for them to move forward. "I'm sure there's bound to be a few inns in the area."

"Hopefully we'll find someplace that's nice and warm." Suzumi noted as he placed the canteen back on his satchel.

"I wish, let's move out and—"

"Contact front." Walters whispered to the rest of the group. Looking up ahead at the end of the corridor, Rodriguez saw two batarian guards that just seemingly came out of nowhere, who were treacherously staring at them with their two pairs of eyes. They wore medium-grade hardsuits, and wielded what looked like old Haliat Thunder assault rifles pointed on the ground; which would change soon enough if things went out of hand. _Damn it!_

"Shit," Suzumi cursed in a soft voice, his hands reaching for a non-existent weapon which he finally realized wasn't there. "what do we do?"

"Stay calm, and don't do anything stupid." Rodriguez faced his XO. "If they so much as raise their weapons at us, shoot 'em." Walters just gave him a nod in response, secretly pulling back the arming bolt on the squad's lone Predator heavy pistol, which was their only weapon.

Walking normally towards the entrance that separated the corridor from the rest of Omega, the group was about to pass through when the guards suddenly blocked their path, a scowl etched on both their facial features.

"Well, well," the first batarian said in an arrogant tone. "what do we have here."

"Humans." The second one spat out, voice filled with disgust. "I suggest you leave before things get ugly around here." It took all of his self-control not to clench his fist and deck the man from where he stood. He really just wanted to wipe that smug look on those bastards' ugly faces. But right now, discretion was the better part of valor, and one wrong move could quickly escalate this thing into fully-blown firefight in which he knew he couldn't win. Taking a deep breath, he slowly made his way in front of the armed duo, arms raised a bit in a non-threatening manner.

"Listen, fellas, we don't want any trouble." Rodriguez reasoned with them. "We just came here to look for work, that's all."

The second batarian's eyes bulged in its sockets, obviously angered at whatever he had said to him. The alien quickly streamed his way towards the former colonel, his glare never wavering as he dangerously closed the distance between the two of them, separating them a foot apart. Rodriguez could feel the alien's warm, stinking breath as the batarian spoke in a dangerously low tone.

"You already take away our land, our resources, and our dignity. And yet you have the audacity to come here and take what's rightfully ours?!" Rodriguez hadn't anticipated on what happened next, as he felt the air expel out from his lungs when the batarian threw a vicious gauntleted fist right through his abdomen, doubling over in pain from the unexpected hit as his cotton shirt failed to protect him from the assault. He was on his knees in an instant, a hand touching over the painful spot in his gut while the other steadied himself on the rusty, stained floor.

"You bastards!" He heard Johnson hiss out in anger, followed with a few heavy footsteps echoing in the narrow corridor. "You sadistic motherfu—"

"Johnson! Stand down!" Walters ordered as Suzumi and Cortez came into his line-of-sight, restraining the furious southerner from doing anything they might regret.

"But, I—"

"Stand. Down." Walters cut him off with a neutral voice, brokering no further argument. The former lieutenant thankfully heeded the XO's command, calming down at the tense situation.

Rodriguez stood up slowly, a hand still placed in his abdomen as he tried getting up; ignoring the lingering fact that the alien in front of him had just attacked without warning. Controlling his anger, he spoke to them again (through gritted teeth) with the same reasonable tone he used previously.

"As I said earlier, we don't want any trouble. We're just passing throuh"

"Why, you little—" Before the second batarian could finish his rant and start the eventual assault that was sure to follow, his partner interrupted him, placing a hand on the alien's shoulder.

"Leave 'em, Fornak. These wretched humans aren't worth the trouble."

"You're right." The hostile alien named Fornak faced them. "Be seeing you later, humans." He gave them one last look of repulsion and left with his partner in tow.

"You okay, sir?" Walters asked when the batarians were out of earshot, trying to come to the former colonel's aid.

"I'm fine," Rodriguez gestured off his concerns with a dismissive wave. "let's just go."

* * *

"This place doesn't look so bad." Suzumi voiced out as they finally found a room thirty minutes later, with the former corporal eyeing a view that was overlooking the slums in the Gozu district. Meanwhile, Rodriguez sat on the edge of one of the beds in the room, with his shirt raised as Cortez looked after his bruise that was getting worse by the minute.

"That's putting it mildly," Johnson remarked as he stood beside his subordinate near the window. "you damn well know this place definitely sucks ass."

"And whose idea was it, you know, for us to come here in the first place?" Suzumi retorted with an amused tone. Johnson looked at the man, his eyes showing annoyance at the guy's reference.

"Shut up, Rye."

"Just saying, man. It's not that bad, we could've ended up at someplace worse."

"What's your definition of worse, then?" The southerner asked in an irritated voice. "Have you seen where we are lately? We're at the fucking ass end of nowhere, in case you still haven't noticed it."

"I don't see why you have to make such a big fuss about this, Al."

"Because this is Omega, damn it! It's practically the Citadel's evil twin. At least that giant space station had some awesome sparkly fountains and shit."

"Hey, at least we're still breathing. Have you ever thought about that?"

"No, I didn't. But still—"

"Johnson." Walters interjected on their conversation, the XO lying down on a cot next to both of them.

"Yeah, what is it?"

"Shut the hell up, will ya? I'm trying to get some sleep." Johnson exaggeratingly sighed as he threw his arms in the air.

"Fiiiiine," The man drawled out. "shutting up now."

Rodriguez winced, involuntarily inhaling a lung full of processed air as the shuttle pilot prodded the area in his gut which had hurt the most. He sighed, the tense standoff earlier with the xenophobic guards could've ended up way more differently than what had actually happened, and he was just thankful that it hadn't escalated into something they couldn't control. This minor wound he had right now was a reminder, of how it was a small price to pay, in a place where everything usually ended with a few rounds fired from someone else's gun. He honestly wasn't looking forward to that.

The room they were currently staying was surprisingly cheap, which was a far cry from the place they stayed back on Illium. It was no Hotel Requiem, he knew, but at least they could stay at this dilapidated inn for a little while longer with the funds they currently had. After all, the reason they were here was to look for a job, one that could pay them good money without doing anything that could compromise their principles. In other words, it was easier said than done.

He just knew it that somewhere out there, in the expanse that was the Kima district of this station, was a job that could that could support them for a few weeks at most before they could plan on their next step.

"Here," Cortez handed him an icepack. "take this."

"Thanks." He gingerly took it and pressed it on his stomach, evoking another gasp on his part as the pack started to quickly numb the bruise away.

"Well, you got us here, what's next?"

"I'm still working on it, Steve."

"I'm not trying to rush you or anything, but you better hurry. We don't really have that much money left," Cortez said as he returned all the tools he used earlier inside the first-aid kit. "With the clothes, the rations, and everything else, we only got about a week or two left before we run out."

"I know." Rodriguez stood, giving the fast-acting icepack back towards the ex-Alliance pilot, his wound now plain bearable instead of being painful a little while back. "Suzumi, you're coming with me." The former militiaman just gave him a confused look before nodding in agreement without question, both of them now heading towards the front door.

"Where are you guys going?" Johnson asked as the former colonel pressed the button interface that slid the door open.

"What's it look like I'm doing? I'm going to go out there, and try to get us all a job." He turned around, with Suzumi on his tail as they exited the room, with doubt slowly creeping on his mind as he fearfully wondered if his idea to come here was becoming a huge mistake.


	18. Hostile Intent

**Kima District / Omega**

"_I'm sorry; you do not have the qualifications necessary for this line of work. For more contact information in regards to T-GES Mineral Works, please call—_"

Rodriguez couldn't hear the rest of the message as he cut off the comm link, exiting the nearby kiosk in which he had applied earlier for multiple job openings: first as a heavy duty rig operator for this station's vast element zero deposits, and then as a security operator to help defend said miners against hostile incursions. Needless to say, it was totally a waste of his time. All in all, this was probably his seventh consecutive rejection, as he failed yet again to qualify for a job, and it wasn't exactly helping him resolve his shot-up nerves from calming down. He really had to find a job, and fast.

Next to his booth, Suzumi also exited from his own cubicle, with a crestfallen expression on his face as he went to meet up with him.

"I take it you didn't get the job?"

"No sir," the former corporal replied. "they said something about me not having the 'qualifications necessary' to work there." Rodriguez sighed as he led his subordinate out of the mining corporation's small office in the edge of the rundown district.

"Pretty much the same thing I got."

"What're we going to do now, sir?" Suzumi asked him earnestly as they walked on one of the narrow streets. "If we don't get any job openings soon, we're fucked."

"Let me worry about that, Rye. I'm sure we can find something. I hope…" He said the last two-word sentence mainly to himself, trying to help uplift his own battered spirits.

They passed through a neglected building that was on the verge of collapse, with a couple of the nightmarish vorcha standing guard on the front entrance, their blood red eyes eyeballing the both of them with hostile intent. After the incident earlier with the prejudiced batarian, the former colonel wished that he had some sort of weapon, to help reassure him that he was still safe and somewhat in control of any situation they could be in on. And so, for the nth time that day, he cursed himself in his thoughts for forgetting to ask Walters for the M3 Predator pistol before they left.

With the amount of rejections they were going through, he still didn't want to think negatively about their chances so far. Even though his logic would dictate that the odds were obviously stacked against them, he had to shelve those pessimistic thoughts away for Suzumi's sake, who was already about to give up and accept his newfound fate. It was just upsetting, to say the least, as one of the men who looked up to him for guidance and direction looked just about lost as he was.

He _really _needed to do something about that.

They were turning left just around the corner, with the former colonel just contemplating about how unfair life really was with a million and a half different reasons, when the former militiaman in front of him just stepped dead in his tracks.

"You hear that?" Suzumi asked as he instantly turned his head left. Rodriguez raised an eyebrow in confusion.

"Hear what?"

"Listen."

"Rye, I can't hear any—" Suzumi just shushed him out, raising an index finger to emphasize his point. Rodriguez just sighed as he strained his ears to pick up any traces of sound the former corporal was mentioning about, and it didn't take long before he could pick up the telltale signs of mass accelerators firing in the distance. And based on the amount of it firing, there were a _lot _of them.

_Oh, you've gotta be kidding me._

They weren't the only ones who heard the gunfire, as the nearby populace all around them immediately caught wind of it and were quickly emptying the streets, taking shelter in their decrepit homes. In a matter of moments, the area they were in on was an instant ghost town, with no living soul in sight.

The rapid-firing gunfight was drawing closer by the second, and Rodriguez swore viciously in his mind. Out of all the times for a firefight to happen, it had to be now with him and his subordinate nearby and unarmed. They had to find shelter immediately, before they could get caught in the middle of this massive shit storm.

He grabbed Suzumi by the wrist and dragged him to a nearby modular prefab home, where he saw a middle-aged human couple go inside earlier from the populace's hasty departure.

"Open up!" Rodriguez yelled out as he arrived in the front door, hurriedly pressing the holographic doorbell a couple of times. "Please, let us in."

"_Get lost, kid._" The holographic doorbell—which, he just come to realize, also served as a two-way comm link—barked at them with a gruff tone. "_We've got our own problems here._"

"Please, I'm begging you. Let us—" The holo interface quickly changed from a friendly orange to a hostile red, indicating the link was now completely shut off. "Damn it!" A few bursts of what sounded like assault rifle fire echoed out loudly nearby, and he immediately threw Suzumi to the ground, covering his subordinate with his own body as he raised his head to look at the source of the constant chatter of gunfire.

Up ahead, at about a few dozen meters, three people—human males, by the looks of it—hurriedly ran as they cut a turn towards his direction, firing off a few potshots from behind them with their weapons. Two of them wore hardsuits of unknown make, while a third was in civilian clothing that looked awfully different from all those residing here in this hellhole, sporting a sports jacket, slacks, and a collared shirt.

"What's going on out there?" Suzumi inquired, unable to observe what was happening because of his current position.

"Just keep your head down, it's nothing."

The trio's pursuers finally came into view, as they rounded out the junction. They were a motley group composed of humans, turians, and batarians that sported the same blue and white armor, and they looked hell-bent on capturing the three humans, firing their weapons sporadically in every direction without a care in the world. No wonder the people in here packed up in a hurry. These idiots were shooting indiscriminately at everything in sight.

One of the hardsuit wearing humans collapsed, as an unseen round from somebody's weapon took him out in mid-stride, dropping the M8 Avenger he was wielding. The two remaining humans kept on running, undeterred by the loss of one of their own as they ran off like the devil himself was on their tail.

"Perry!" One of the pursuers, a batarian, bellowed out. "You can't run away forever!" As if it was trying to highlight the alien's statement, a sniper rifle went off, its loud bang clearly noticeable as it proceeded to blow the head off the last remaining armored human protecting the guy named Perry. Rodriguez watched in horror as the man's front face blew out in a shower of blood, brain matter, and pieces of the poor man's skull. He could feel his stomach twisting from the sight of the visceral gore in front of him, and even though he was a seasoned soldier, he'll never get used to seeing all that carnage.

Perry's eyes widened at the sight of his remaining guard's brains on the floor, but kept on running nonetheless, not stopping to grieve or collect any of his protectors' weapons.

"Sir, what the hell's going—" Suzumi tried to speak out, but a heavy amount of weapons fire just suddenly came out towards their direction, the rounds pinging closely overhead as they unexpectedly became the focal point of the blue-and-white armored mercenaries' attention. Rodriguez shielded his subordinate as they shrank even further on the ground, hugging the floor as low as they can with his kinetic barrier now coming to life from a few glancing hits from the incoming fire.

"We've got a few stragglers, men!" The batarian earlier, who looked like he was the one in charge, barked out. "Kill 'em all!"

"Rye, run!" Rodriguez screamed as he stood Suzumi up on his feet, the both of them displacing as more and more guns started opening up on them. A fiery explosion engulfed their old spot a few seconds later, and he could feel the heat wash over his back as he tried to put some distance between them and the bloodthirsty mercs, with his K-barrier shimmering as a few stray grenade fragments manage to find its way towards him.

The guy named Perry, who was just in front of them by a few meters, observed what was happening and without a second thought, turned around and proceeded to provide covering fire with his own weapon, which happened to be an M6 Carnifex. The massive hand cannon roared loudly, and Rodriguez saw three mercs go down instantly with huge, gaping holes in their chests.

"Come on!" Perry waved them over. Having no other alternatives left, Rodriguez obliged and led Suzumi to follow the man. The gun-toting stranger fired a few more rounds at the hostiles before his heavy pistol hissed out steam and beeped noisily, indicating that the weapon's thermal clip was thoroughly spent.

"Oh, for the love of…" Perry threw his weapon on the ground and ran accordingly in full sprint, with Rodriguez and Suzumi in tow. A few of the mercs' weapons' slugs impacted near their feet, and the metallic ground beneath them erupted in a few sparks. "Please tell me you fellas live somewhere around here."

"We're staying at an inn not too far from here, about less than a klick west." Rodriguez replied, slightly short of breath from the exertion. "We need something to lose 'em with, and fast."

"Yeah, I don't think I have one of those and—oh wait, yes I do." as if a light bulb just lit up on top of Perry's head, his expression changed, from a grim scowl to that of jubilant recognition. The stranger was fishing something out of his slacks' pocket for a few seconds, until he finally produced a circular device with what looked like retractable stabilizing fins on its sides.

"What's that?" Suzumi asked.

"Mark Fourteen multi-purpose grenade, Alliance standard-issue." Perry responded with confidence, as the group turned abruptly to the right to avoid a pile of large, abandoned shipping containers.

"Where'd you get that?" Rodriguez asked in incredulity. "I thought Alliance gear was—you know what, never mind. Just throw the stupid thing!"

"We need to find an open space first, it won't do jack shit if there's crap cluttered all around it when this baby goes off."

"We don't have much time, damn it. You need to throw it, right now!"

"I'm telling ya that—" A rifle round struck along Suzumi's shoulder blades, and the former militiaman stumbled in his advance as the kinetic barrier he had on automatically came to existence, going down face first on the dirt-riddled floor from the round's momentum. The mercs' advance team was already near them, firing their weapons with deadly precision. It was only a matter of time before the rest of those bastards would finally catch up with them. Rodriguez grabbed his subordinate through his arm pits and gave Perry a pleading look.

"For Christ sakes', throw the fucking thing! _Throw it!_"

"Oh, to hell with it." Perry reared his arm back and heaved the grenade towards the advancing merc vanguard.

A brief, brilliant flash of white blinded Rodriguez as he raised a hand to shield himself from the searing light. As it finally subsided, his eyes widened with the sight of nine mercenaries flash-frozen and helpless, perfectly still and peaceful. If only he had a gun to finish them off. And with that, he couldn't help but stare in awe at the prospect of having a weapon such as that at his disposal.

"Bose-Einstein cryo condensates," Perry informed the both of them a few seconds later. "pretty nasty stuff."

"I'll say." Suzumi croaked as he stood up straight, whose astonished trance mimicked the former colonel's own at the scene in front of them.

"I can't believe it worked, though." Perry gazed at his handiwork. "Usually its effectiveness decreases when it doesn't detonate on open terrain." Rodriguez snapped his gaze away at the frozen hostiles and went back straight to his current task.

"Come on, we're just a few more dozen meters away."

"Yeah, sure." The stranger replied before a wicked grin formed on his facial features. "Let's just make one more stop before we get there..."

* * *

"Where've you guys been?" Cortez was the first to voice out his concern when they finally arrived back inside the room, with his eyes narrowed cautiously at the sight of Perry. "And who is this guy?"

"The 'guy' happens to have a name," the stranger replied in an agitated tone, dropping three of the duffel bags he brought with him to the floor. "and it's John Perry."

"I'm guessing you all have something to do with that firefight a few blocks away," Johnson remarked with a neutral tone before breaking out into a wide smile. "you should've brought me with you, sir."

"It wasn't all fun and games, Al." Rodriguez rebuked the former cavalry officer with a stern tone. "We barely made it out of there alive, and if it wasn't for Perry here helping us out, we wouldn't be here breathing right now."

"Just happy to help." Perry remarked with a small smile.

"Why were they hell-bent on killing you, anyway?" Suzumi asked as he sat down on the edge of a nearby bed.

"Now that you mention it," the former colonel stated as he proceeded to take off his dirty leather jacket. "that batarian really wanted you dead. Why's that?" Perry's face changed into a sad downcast expression as he slowly walked towards the room's sole window to witness the view, sighing miserably as he tried to recall what had happened to him previously.

"I grew a conscience at the worst possible time, that's what happened."

"What're you talking about?" Walters queried.

"In my line of work, let's just say it requires a certain…detachment to things," He turned his head around, looking straight into Rodriguez's brown eyes. "to be morally ambiguous. In order to protect oneself, from all the blatant horrors of reality lying in wait out there, ready to bite me in the ass."

"What did you do, Perry?" The former colonel held onto the unfamiliar person's gaze.

"Let's just say, I sold a bunch of things to people I shouldn't have. When I found out what those bastards' plans were for the merchandise they bought from me, I blew it up right in front of their faces before they could use 'em."

Rodriguez thought about the advanced Alliance grenade he saw the man use earlier, and based on the story that Perry had just shared to the rest of them, it didn't take long before he had come to connect the rest of the missing pieces altogether.

"You're an arms dealer."

"Pretty much," Perry retorted with a miserable smirk. "the horrible things they were planning on doing to those poor innocent people, was just something I didn't want to help achieve. I honestly thought I was gonna die right then and there. I just…" The arms dealer looked like he was at a loss for words, breaking his stare away from the former colonel.

"Who were those two guys that were with you earlier?" Rodriguez asked solemnly.

"Dutch and Tanner, they were my bodyguards, and good friends of mine. They've been with me ever since I started this gig sixteen years ago. I can't believe they're gone…"

"I'm sorry…" Suzumi said sympathetically.

"Don't be, I should've seen this coming a long time ago." Perry said in derisive manner. "I guess karma's finally catching up with me now, for all the lives I've ruined with my business."

"What're you going to do now?" Walters inquired intently.

"I honestly don't know. After I blew that weapons cache to hell, I wasn't really thinking that far ahead. But enough about me, though…" He observed the rest of them thoughtfully. "what brings you to this glorified shithole?"

"We actually came here looking for a job." Rodriguez mentioned in a disdainful tone. "As much as we hate coming here, we didn't exactly have that much of a choice."

"Where you fellas from?"

"Well, believe it or not, we're from Ferris Fie—" A single high-velocity gunshot rang out, breaking the hard synthetic polymer windowpane into a million tiny pieces. Perry screamed out loud as the round went through his upper arm, with the arms dealer going down hard on the ground as he spun from the shot's impact.

"Snipeeeer!" Johnson yelled.

"Everybody down!" Rodriguez ordered as more shots followed through, shattering most of the items inside the room, which included the vases and other cheap house items meant to make this place more at home. All the men inside the room hit the deck, hugging the ground to make themselves disappear on the shooter's targeting reticule.

"Son of a—" a shot broke through Suzumi's water canteen, spraying everyone inside the room with…well, water. "Can you see the shooter?"

"Negative, negative." Walters replied, brandishing out the Predator pistol he was entrusted with. "I can't see him, he's got us pinned."

"A pistol ain't gonna cut it, sir." Suzumi cried out as he crawled to come get the squad's first-aid kit. "We need bigger guns!"

"The bags." Perry grumbled as he was lying down on the ground, a hand clutching on his bleeding wound. "There's guns and clips inside the bags."

The three duffels bags, the ones Perry brought with him from their slight stopover earlier, were just lying in the center of the room. Rodriguez tried going near them, but the sniper had him pinned on the crook of the room, cursing out loudly as he took shelter on the side of one of the beds.

"Johnson!"

"Yo!"

"Get those damn bags!"

"Are you crazy?" The southerner yelled out in disbelief as he took cover underneath the dinner table. "I ain't planning on dying just about yet, sir."

"That sniper's attention is on me, damn it!" Rodriguez shouted back. "Move, before he decides to blow your head off!"

"But—"

"Goddamn it, move! That's a direct order!"

"Fuuuuuck!" Johnson cursed out at full volume, as he finally stood from where he was and ran wildly towards the duffel bags. The sniper shifted his aim and began blasting at the running southerner inside the room. A shot from the enemy combatant's rifle blew one of the pillows into smithereens, with feathers flying freely into the air.

The former lieutenant grabbed the bags by the shoulder straps and rolled his body sideways near the edge of the room, his speed and momentum quickly carrying him towards their in an instant.

"Holy crap! I did it!"

"That's nice and all, farm boy." Suzumi called out in a semi-amused tone. "Now hand us those guns." Johnson seemed to ignore the former corporal plea, as he kept on his victory tirade and kept on gloating in the direction of the hostile sniper.

"Ha-ha, you suck! You hear me? You can't hit worth a damn, you stupid piece of—"

Just four inches above Johnson's head, the wall near him exploded in a vapor of sizzling sparks, with the vertical metal partition showing off a huge fist-sized hole. He immediately went down for cover, his hands above his head as he further protected himself from the sniper's wrath.

"Johnson!" Walters screamed out. "That's enough!"

"Okay." The southerner conceded in a submissive tone. "Shutting up now."

"Make sure Walters has a long-range rifle." Rodriguez instructed before facing Suzumi. "How's he looking, Rye?"

"His brachial artery was severed, sir!" Suzumi reported. "But I managed to stave off the rest of the bleeding with medi-gel." The former colonel nodded his approval at the young former militiaman and looked for his shuttle pilot.

"Cortez, you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." The ex-Alliance fighter jock replied, who was taking cover on the wall housing the shattered window. "I'll live, thanks for asking."

"Crap," Johnson swore as he looked at the opened duffel bags' contents. "these guns look all the same to me."

"Are they all folded and in their compact state?" Walters asked.

"Yeah, why?"

"Grab one, and then read the tiny inscription on the lower right portion of the weapon." The former major instructed in a semi-patient voice.

"What's that got to do with—"

"Just do it!"

"Uh, okay." The southerner grabbed a black, folded gun from inside the bag and did what he was told, "This one says 'Hahne-Kedar N7 Valiant, Modular Sniper Weapon Sys—'"

"Okay, that's close enough. Just hand it over." Johnson obeyed the request wordlessly and threw the heavy shrunken rifle towards Walters's direction.

The former XO caught the rifle two-handedly as it was flung in the air, pressing the small button near the trigger-guard that immediately transformed the weapon into its sleek, uncompact form. Walters manually made minute adjustments on the weapon's scope to adjust for the rifle's upcoming shot, compensating for the lack of targeting visors, omni-tools and hardsuit miniframe computers.

"Where is he?"

"What?" Rodriguez asked, unable to hear Walters through the din of the sniper's fusillade.

"Where. Is. He. Sir!"

Rodriguez slowly peeked out of his cover, narrowing his eyes to ascertain the location of the shooter's position. He saw blue muzzle flashes, from the weapon's miniature mass accelerator lighting up after every shot, coming in from the…east, or north? He couldn't tell, and right now he had to improvise to help his subordinate line up for a shot.

"Walters! Target is on your…uh, two o'clock! On top of a refinery."

"Distance!"

"Looks like about five hundred yards." Walters peered over the edge of the destroyed plastic window and placed his rifle through, eyeing the scope.

"I see him. I'm going to need a distraction, sir."

"What?"

"I said I'm going to need a—"

Several of the sniper's latest shots impacted on the bed he was currently taking cover from, where Rodriguez dove in further on the side of the battered mattress as the rounds nearly took his head clean off. Multiple slugs mutilated the bed's innards as loose chunks of cotton and rubber foam joined in the latest fray of debris scattered all around the room.

Apparently, that was just the right distraction his XO needed, as he saw Walters calmly aim his bulky rifle towards his target, undeterred by the amount of chaos that was ensuing all over the place by the sniper's hand.

A single gunshot echoed loudly inside the messed up room, as Walters finally fired his weapon at his designated target. A few brief moments later, the enemy's constant assault thankfully ceased, with the former major removing his N7 Valiant out of the shattered window pane and putting it on top of his legs, just leaning his back and head against the wall as he took a breather.

"Target eliminated, sir." The former XO reported.

"Thank God," Rodriguez breathed as he finally stood up, dust and other minute form of debris falling off of him, as he went through Perry's side. He saw Suzumi try his best in stabilizing the wounded arms dealer, who looked uncharacteristically pale, compared to his colored features a while ago. They had to get him some real professional help soon; the medi-gel was only good as a temporary stop-gap solution, not a permanent one.

"Henry?"

"What is it, Steve?" Rodriguez looked up to see Cortez standing over the window, a grave expression on etched on his face.

"We got company; they're going inside the building." Rodriguez sighed as he faced Johnson.

"Looks like we can't catch a break after all," the former colonel said softly before hardening his voice and resolve. "Distribute the rest of those weapons and gear."

"What're we going to do?" Suzumi asked. Rodriguez just gave him a small smirk.

"We're getting outta here."


	19. Borrowing Without Permission

"Hostiles, dead ahead!" Johnson yelled out in the inn's narrow corridor.

Rodriguez hastily pointed his gun towards the enemies' direction, not even bothering to aim down the rifle's sights as he squeezed on the trigger. The M96AS Mattock he held bucked in his hands, the fairly new and unused weapon rapidly coughing out millimeter-sized hyper-accelerated rounds downrange. Several of the slugs hit a pair of mercenaries barreling down towards their position, with the first one immediately taking cover at a gap provided by a nearby door, his K-barriers swiftly flashing into life. The second one wasn't as fortunate, having lost his shields and immediately going down hard without a fight.

Four more mercs quickly took their downed brethren's place, opening up with their own weapons as they advanced using fire and maneuver. The corner of the wall, in which the former colonel had used to take cover, instantly burst into a shower of orange flickers as the opposition's own shots came through. He tore away his face on the edge of the partition and blind fired his weapon, trying ineffectively to fight back under cover.

The rifle suddenly clicked and hissed empty, making him curse at his distracted brain again for not counting on his weapon's shots.

"We need to move sir," Suzumi said while firing off his M12 Locust SMG from the hip. "they'll pin us down if we stay here."

"I know! I'm working on it." Rodriguez replied as he ejected the spent clip on his rifle and replaced it with a new one. He tried peering at the edge of his cover to fire precisely, but he was just rewarded with the same results as before, with surprisingly accurate fire from the enemy driving him back to concealment. "Walters!"

"On it, sir." The XO responded offhandedly as he exited from cover. The former major aimed his N7 Valiant sniper rifle, and fired two shots in quick succession along the slim passageway. Two more mercs went down quickly out of the picture, each of them with a single entrance wound situated right between their lifeless eyes. The remaining three hostiles saw what was happening all around them and tried to flee at the elevator they were guarding, but several shots from Walters' rifle and Johnson's M22 Eviscerator shotgun prevented both of them from reaching there alive, with their carcasses rolling on the floor.

"Come on," Rodriguez beckoned with a wave once the threats were eliminated, "let's move."

The rest of them of hurriedly sprinted out of their stations, avoiding the bleeding, bullet-riddled corpses that were strewn about everywhere and acquiring the deceased's thermal clips, which wasn't much. Although it was only a short dash towards the spacious elevator compartment, all of them were completely out of breath as they panted out of sheer exhaustion.

Suzumi pressed the glowing holographic interface in front of him, and it wasn't long before the doors slid close and the elevator car they were all in shook with movement, slowly taking them down towards the inn's ground floor where the rest of the mercs were surely waiting for all of them.

Behind the group was Cortez, who gently placed the scarcely conscious Perry down on the metallic floor, checking to see if the gravely wounded arms dealer was still with the living. The man was going even more paler by the minute, and just looking at the guy further didn't really help any matters.

"How is he, Steve?"

"He's holding, Henry. But barely," The shuttle pilot answered as he checked the man's medi-gel filled wound on the left arm. "guy's not going to last long, I can tell you that."

"Who the hell were those guys?" Walters asked earnestly.

"They're Blue Suns, a mercenary outfit on their way to becoming a full-blown crime syndicate; in short, very bad hombres."

"I heard about them. Extortion, racketeering, kidnapping. The whole nine yards. Damn." Suzumi said as he slid himself to the floor with a downcast expression. "This sucks."

"…Mordin." Perry slowly muttered as he lazily swayed his head from side-to-side with his eyes closed. Rodriguez just gave the man a confused look.

"What?"

"…Gozu…District…clinic…"

"What's he talking about?" Suzumi asked. Cortez, who was checking on Perry's blood pressure from a device he procured earlier, answered back.

"While you guys were in that firefight earlier, he just kept on rambling about some doctor who runs a clinic in the Gozu District."

"The _what_?" Johnson said out loud as he joined in the conversation. "He's not serious, is he? That's practically on the other side of this station!"

"We don't have much of a choice," The former colonel firmly retorted as turned around to face the doors. "if he thinks we can get help there, then that's where we're going." Johnson's facial features cringed from his superior's new orders.

"Sir, you're not actually considering this, are you? What we need to do now is to fall back and regroup, while we still can."

"And what about him, huh?" Suzumi interjected with an ever louder voice as he stood up from where he was. "We can't just sit here and watch him die."

"He's just slowing us down. Deadweight," The southerner casually remarked. "we'll just leave him somewhere and then come back for him once this blows over."

"In case you've forgotten, _they_ are after this guy! Remember? We are not—"

"All the more reason for us to leave him behind, Rye. He can buy us more time so that—"

"_Whaaat?_" The former corporal's voice was getting even louder now, his face screaming bloody murder. "That's fucking insane, man! Even for you!"

"I'm just trying to think logically here, alright?"

"And what if it was you that was bleeding over there, huh? You want us to leave you behind, too?"

"That's not what I—"

"_Shut up!_" Rodriguez roared loudly as he faced both of his arguing subordinates, his angry voice echoing in the space surrounding them as his eyes started darted between the two. "Just shut the fuck up! Both of you! We're taking him to that damned clinic, and that's _final!_"

"But colonel—!"

The former militia commander grabbed a fistful of Johnson's shirt and slammed him hard to the side of the elevator wall, forcefully placing his sore arm on the neck of the former lieutenant. He was fuming now, and his blood was boiling dangerously with pure frustration and fury.

Johnson looked helplessly as his CO stared dangerously at him, with fear starting to take form on the younger man's face as he gulped audibly, where catchy elevator music was playing in the background.

"Listen," Rodriguez spoke through gritted teeth, barely reigning in on his anger, "we are going to get him patched up, and you _are _going to help us. Is that understood?"

"I don't trust him, sir." The southerner blurted out quickly, his blue eyes just unsteadily gazing with Rodriguez's brown ones.

The former colonel's grip on the man's shirt tightened as he let out a shaky sigh, looking away from his subordinate's trembling face as he tried to relax from his sudden outburst of anger.

"You don't have to give your heart and soul to the guy, Al. But just trust me, alright? That's all I'm asking."

"I don't wanna die for some guy I just met…sir." Rodriguez faced the former lieutenant and gave him a small, reassuring smile.

"You won't, okay? I promise."

Johnson was just silent, but nonetheless gave his superior officer an understanding nod as Rodriguez released his hold on the man's neck. All the frustrations that were building up inside of him since he left Ferris Fields were starting to take its toll on him, and his little escapade at the little pub on Illium to blow most of it off didn't actually work all the way. He was still one big mess, and it'll take a lot more scotch to even remotely clean it all up.

In hindsight, he couldn't find it in his heart to blame his former lieutenant for being scared; because quite frankly, he himself was even more scared than he actually was. Every step or action he took now was pretty much a gamble. A single mistake could cost him the lives of his men, and with so few of them in number left, he couldn't even afford to lose a single one.

With the odds heavily stacked against them, he could only hope and pray to God (if that son of a bitch was still even out there, considering what just happened) that he'd protect his men from any further harm.

"Sir," Walters spoke in a clipped tone as he watch the holographic readout. "we're almost at the lobby."

"Okay. Rye," Rodriguez faced the former corporal, who was carrying a single duffel bag in his shoulder. "what do we have left?" The Japanese-born militiaman unslung his bag on the floor and quickly opened it, scampering its contents with his hands.

"Some thermal clips, a little medi-gel, and…hold on a sec," He dug his hand even deeper inside the bag, until he produced a familiar object a few seconds later. "looks like another one of those fancy grenades Perry used a while ago."

"Give it here." Suzumi handed the circular explosive device to him, and on it, he could only see three buttons lined vertically on the right of the thing, along with a small half-circle LCD screen on the left. The buttons themselves didn't have any labels or description near them, which made it all the more difficult in operating the damned thing. It wasn't anything like the old M99s he used back at the colony, and he just stared at it blankly. "How the hell do I arm this?"

"The topmost button starts the detonation sequence," Cortez spoke up, "the middle one sets it for cryo condensates and the bottommost one is for fragmentation."

"Since when do you know how to use this thing?"

"I used to be with the Alliance, remember? I trained with that stuff during basic training."

"Oh, right." Rodriguez answered sheepishly as he finally set the device to detonate as a normal frag grenade. "Okay, I got it."

"Two floors left, sir." Walters reminded them again, readying his weapon while he was at it.

"Rye, how many grenades do we have in there?"

"Just that one, sir."

"Shit," Rodriguez cursed in a soft voice as he pocketed the grenade in his jeans. "well, I'll just save this for later then. Distribute what's left of the clips and do a final weapons check."

"We're going to burn through these in a matter of minutes, sir." Suzumi commented as he started handing out the last of the squad's thermal clips and medi-gel capsules to everyone. "What's the plan?"

"Same as before, we take them out before _they_ take us out."

A loud ding captured everyone's attention, with the holo-readout finally showing them that they arrived on the ground floor. Rodriguez breathed in and out once before he gripped his weapon tightly in his hands, with sweat starting to pour heavily on his forehead again.

"Make damn sure those shots count, boys."

The double doors slid open in front of them, and up ahead were five mercenaries just milling around in the center of the lobby, acting like nothing was happening and just talking casually without a care in the world. By the time those PMC lackeys looked in his direction, they were already goners given a one-way ticket straight to hell.

As one, the squad exited the elevator and opened fire. All five of the mercs were instantaneously cut down by slugs whose muzzle velocities exceeded five times the speed of sound. Blood was explosively flying everywhere as the rounds tore through the enemies' distinctive blue-and-white hardsuits like a hot knife through butter, with the bodies going down as if they were in slow-mo.

The double-set doors behind the torn-up suckers opened, and another set of hostiles entered the inn with guns blazing. A few thin support columns were nearby, three of these godawful rickety pillars just a few meters in front of them and horizontally spaced two meters apart. Without further thought, all of them took cover in it, even though it didn't really provide that much protection to begin with.

Rodriguez and Suzumi shared the rightmost buttress while the others took the middle and the left. The slugs kept their relentless assault on their commandeered columns, and the former colonel was practically back-to-back with his subordinate as both of them clustered around the only thing that was keeping them apart between them and the Almighty. He tried firing off a few shots, but the fire was just too heavy to aim accurately, and all of his bullets just hit nothing but thin air and cheap inn stuff. With no choice left, he grabbed the grenade he was planning on saving from his pocket, pressed the arming button, and threw it half-assed towards the direction in which he thought the enemy was positioned.

There was a slight pause in the attack as the mercs tried to get away from the grenade's blast. Two of them weren't that lucky as the device blew up, peppering the screaming unfortunate bastards with hot, explosive fragments. While the rest of the attackers were flushed out from their respective cover, him and the rest of his squad took the opportunity to fight back, downing another four with concentrated weapons fire. Their brief attempt at a counter-attack failed, with the remainder of the enemy team exiting the building trying to regroup. This was his chance.

"Move up!" Rodriguez ordered as he got out of that unstable pillar and pursued the rest of the enemy force, his squad faithfully following behind him as he reached the entrance, kicking open the shattered double glass doors that separated them from the streets of Omega.

His shields suddenly flared as the remaining mercs, who were just across the constricted road behind a nondescript skycar, opened fire with everything they had. The impacts were starting to hurt like a bitch, and Walters thankfully pulled him out of the line of fire just as his kinetic barriers winked out of existence, with the both of them going down to take cover at a somewhat reliable looking wall just beside the shot-up doors.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it, sir."

Beside them from just across the door, Suzumi and Johnson traded potshots with the enemy as they kept on blasting each other away with their corresponding weapons, whereas Cortez still dutifully looked after their critically wounded acquaintance with a M3 pistol in hand.

"—the hell?" The former corporal swore as he went back into cover, just sitting down on the ground with his back against the wall as he started pulling on his weapon's cocking handle. "Oh, you've gotta be kidding me!"

"What's wrong with it?" Rodriguez shouted from the other side.

"Shaver jam! A piece of the ammo block's stuck on the damned receiver!"

"Did you try pressing the clearance button near the pistol grip?" Walters suggested as he fired his rifle.

"What?" Suzumi cupped a hand in his ear.

"Clearance button." The XO yelled in the din of heavy combat, retracting his rifle from the metallic door frame and pointing to a small button near the grip on his N7 Valiant. "Did you press it?"

"No. Why?"

"Press it, and then pull on the cocking handle to clear the jam."

"Okay, thanks!"

This useless tango with the mercs was a battle for time which they couldn't afford to lose. Perry was dying, they were still inside the inn, and they had no means of transportation in which they could use to escape this obviously hostile area. They needed a shuttle, or a car; just something with four wheels or an engine that could—wait.

He looked outside and suddenly realized the answer was there all along. The skycar! They could use it to get out of here, and Cortez could easily—

—one of the side windows on the flying vehicle shatters from the former lieutenant's single shotgun blast.

"Johnson!" The former colonel screamed in horror at the damage. "What the hell are you doing, man!"

"What? I'm trying to kill them!"

"Don't hit the skycar!"

"What?"

"I said don't hit the _car!_"

"I seriously can't hear you, si—"

"_Don't hit the fucking car!_"

A single explosion goes off near the inn's entrance, completely blasting what was left off the metallic door frame into smithereens. Rodriguez shielded his eyes and face with his arms as bits and pieces of broken glass and metal flew everywhere, with some parts of said frame flying back a few meters towards the direction of the abandoned lobby.

"Christ!" Suzumi distanced himself from the doorway with a deep laceration on his cheek. "What was that?"

"A grenade." Walters answered as he peered on the edge of the entrance and fired off a volley with his rifle.

"What?"

"Never mind."

"These people don't mess around, don't they?" The shuttle pilot commented.

"We can't keep this up any longer," Rodriguez observed as he inserted his last clip into his rifle. "We're low on clips and reinforcements are bound to overrun us sooner or later."

"What do you suggest?" Johnson inquired.

"I'm out!" Walters stated as he withdrew back towards cover with his rifle hissing and clicking empty.

"Here!" Cortez fished a spare thermal clip out of his pocket and threw it in the air towards the former XO. "Make 'em count!"

"We take the fight to them. Rye and Walters, provide a base of fire on my signal! Johnson, you're with me. We clear that skycar of hostiles and secure it. Clear?"

"Clear, sir!" The three of them responded loud and clear.

"Ready…go!"

Suzumi and Walters both exited from their cover and opened up at the same time, downing a human merc and a turian with several slugs to the head and the chest as they provided covering fire, with the remaining three hostiles going down quickly back to shield themselves.

"Alright, Johnson! On me!"

Rodriguez and the former lieutenant ran from the side of the wall and headed towards the battered skycar, with a few precious moments left to spare before their attempt at suppressive fire would subside. A piece of debris from the inn, which he hadn't noticed lying down there on the road before, connected with his foot; clumsily making the former colonel trip as he instinctively let go of his weapon, trying to put his hands forward to soften the fall. Contrary to popular belief, it really didn't do anything but transfer the pain towards his hands and his wrists, which was a lot.

"Son of a—"

"Come on," Johnson helped him up one-handed and kept on his pace. "we gotta move."

He scooped up his fallen Mattock and proceeded to continue, even though his hands were throbbing from the pain. Behind the skycar, a single helmeted merc rose to fire his weapon. But a blast from the southerner's shotgun forcefully pushed the target backwards before he could pull the trigger; the hostile's blood spraying indiscriminately from the weapon's massive blast.

Rodriguez made a running jump on top of the futuristic flying vehicle, barely making it as his shoes almost slipped from the sleek surface. On the other side of the skycar were the last two mercs, still reeling from their comrade's loss with eyes wide-open and their mouths agape. When they finally saw the former colonel standing on top of their cover, they made one final attempt of defiance by half-heartedly raising their weapons.

A single press on the upgraded Mattock's hairline digital trigger let loose a thunderous fully-automatic burst, the rifle spraying out tungsten carbide rounds all around the doomed mercenaries. Their bodies were dancing unpredictably from the hypersonic impacts, and by the time the rifle was hissing steam and clicking empty, they were already dead before they hit the ground.

The short stubby barrel on the rifle was trailing thin smoke as Rodriguez finally put the weapon down, waving for the rest of his squad from the inn to come out. He ejected the spent clip on his weapon and slung it around his back with a strap, jumping down from the vehicle as Cortez quickly commandeered the driver's seat and the others started piling in.

"You know how to drive this thing?" Rodriguez asked as he neared the shuttle pilot, who was doing a systems check on the vehicle.

"I'm just going to pretend I didn't hear that." Cortez replied as he finally got the skycar to start with a loud throttling noise. "Now get in."


End file.
